


A to Z of Hobbit (and RPF) Whump!

by xLilarosa



Category: The Almighty Johnsons, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Cute Warg Pups, Family Drama, Family Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Plot What Plot, Serious Injuries, Varak, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:56:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 45,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3201497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xLilarosa/pseuds/xLilarosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of long(ish), mostly one-shot stories. Because whumping Fili and Kili (and Dean and Aidan and Anders) is really, really fun. Each chapter includes a different “incident” of shameless, plotless, pure Whump. Still accepting prompts!</p><p> </p><p><b>"Whump":</b> also known as Hurt/Comfort; the infliction of physical or emotional pain or distress.<br/> </p><p><b>Chapter 18:</b> I is for Impact (Part 3)  (The Hobbit):   In which Fili is injured a little worse than he lets on during the fight with the trolls, and Varak is in distress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A is for Absent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FiliKiliThorinForever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiliKiliThorinForever/gifts), [ThornyHedge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornyHedge/gifts).



> **Disclaimer :** Sadly, not mine (unlike the mistakes).
> 
>  **Notes :** Wow. Never thought I'd write one of these! But thought it'd be a good idea to start one, considering I just love whumping the boys. Fandoms will include the Hobbit, Hobbit RPF, and the Almighty Johnsons (see a trend there? oh Dean...). There will be 26 chapters. Not sure how often this will be updated - most likely dependent on interest, prompts (go ahead and throw me one!), and if you're enjoying the ride.
> 
> This is dedicated to my friend FiliKiliThorinForever and also ThornyHedge. Their works are wonderful and always inspire me, go check them out!
> 
>  **Chapter One Warnings:** non-graphic description of drug overdose, M/M (very early on in the relationship) 
> 
> Okay. I should probably get on with the story, yeah? Enjoy!

“ _Aiiid_ ,” Dean whined, only slightly wincing when the younger man adjusted the pillow under his knee. “You don’t have to do this. I’m fine!”

“Oh shush,” Aidan smiled as he tucked two ice packs wrapped in dishcloths around the swollen joint. Dean was still recovering from the fall he took on set earlier that week. Doctors had diagnosed him with a torn ACL, but as stubborn and obstinate as he was, he refused the corrective surgery until filming was complete. Aidan, Richard, Martin, Adam, and Graham were the only members of the cast Dean let know of the recommended treatment, and they all silently agreed this was a poor decision on his part. But arguing with Dean was about as successful as expected, and he continued to brush off the attention. 

“You could hardly stand today,” Aidan said. “Even Peter noticed.”

Dean paled, his expression becoming crestfallen. The last thing he wanted was to create a problem on set and let down the cast and crew. 

“Are you comfortable?” Aidan leaned back, surveying his work with a satisfied nod. Dean was laid back against a mound of pillows, hair mused, and looking tired but finally relaxed.

Dean studied his face. “I look that pitiful?”

“Hardly. More like a hot mess.”

“That’s comforting,” Dean laughed and wiggled back into the bed. “Could you grab those pain meds for me? I think I can take another dose now.”

“Sure,” Aidan went and grabbed the bag on the counter, tossing aside the instructional packet and removing the orange bottle inside. After filling a glass with water, he brought both back to the Kiwi, who was eagerly reaching out for them.

“Are these the same as the last ones you had?” Aidan asked as he watched him down three large pills.

“Yeah, just a refill,” he replied. With another generous swallow of water, he placed the now half-empty glass on the bedside table and then looked at Aidan with big, pathetic eyes. “Stay?”

“No way, I’m not falling for your tricks,” Aidan teased and crawled up the bed to place a large, wet kiss on his forehead. “As much as I find your loud snoring adorable when you take your meds, I need some beauty sleep.”

Dean pouted, and Aidan leaned back in to kiss his down-turned lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning. If you’re lucky, I’ll even have your tea ready for you.”

“Alright, alright,” Dean relaxed back into the pillows, allowing his eyes to close and hoped the pain medication would relax his aching knee. “Thanks for today, Aid.”

“No problem. Now get some sleep.”

____________________

 

Aidan sank tiredly back into his seat as Sara, his makeup artist, began to pin back his hair and start the two hour-long process of transforming into Kili. He stifled a yawn around the rim of his mug; five in the morning came way too quick for his liking.

“Morning, Aid. Richard. Graham. Ad.” Martin said as he entered the room and dropped into the seat opposite Aidan. A chorus of ‘morning’s echoed back at him, and they all fell into the familiar silence of the early morning makeup routine.

“You see O’Gorman anywhere?” Katie, Dean’s makeup artist, asked the room.

Aidan checked the clock, seeing his friend was a few minutes late. “Nah,” he said, “He wasn’t feeling great last night, but should be in soon.”

Fifteen minutes later, Dean was still noticeably absent, so Aidan pulled out his phone to text him. But when five thirty came and went and there was still no sign or reply, instincts took over and he found himself pushing out of his chair. He slipped his cell into his sweatpants’ pocket, and placed his coffee up on the lip in front of the mirror.

“I’m gonna go check on him, the bugger probably slept past his alarm.”

Looking most likely ridiculous as he left the trailer with his hair tied back and face half painted in makeup, he made the two minute walk up to Dean’s trailer, where the shades were shut and lights were off.

With a fist, he pounded on the door, at the same time muttering, “Wake up, Deano.”

The response was a few moments of silence. 

“Dean? I’m coming in.”

The door was unsurprisingly locked from when he had left last night, so he dug out the spare key in the magnetized box under the trailer’s frame. When he entered, the room was dark and quiet, save for Dean’s morning alarm, which could be heard from the far end of the trailer. Seeing the Kiwi nowhere, he made the short walk down the hallway and to the far room – where Dean’s queen-size bed came into view, and upon which, Dean was sleeping. At the small bedside table, his phone was lit up and ringing loudly.

On the bed, the blonde was bathed in the soft glow of the telly. He was still lying on top of the blankets and propped up against a mound of pillows, clothed only in his loose gym shorts. His knee was still elevated and encased in ice packs. The whole scene was incredibly odd; Dean hadn’t seemed to move an inch since Aidan had left.

“C’mon, you’re late for makeup!” He took the phone from the table and shut off the alarm. But the man slept on, didn’t move a muscle, his breaths particularly slow and shallow.

“Dean?”

Aidan hesitantly climbed on the bed, beginning to become worried as Dean remained unresponsive. He crawled close, only now able to see the pallor, sweaty complexion of his friend.

“Dean,” He reached out and shook the pale shoulder, hesitantly at first, and then harder when he got no response – except for the blonde’s head to fall limply against the pillow.

“Shit. _Shit,_ ” Grabbing the phone out his pocket, Aidan quickly speed dialed Richard, thankfully only having to wait two rings before the man answered.

“You find him yet?” He asked. “We’re – ”

“Richard,” Aidan cut him off, voice trembling. “Richard, I think there’s something wrong with him, I don't know, he won’t wake up.”

“What do you mean?” Richard’s tone changed, suddenly grave and Thorin-like, “Where are you?”

“His trailer,” He choked out, his throat tight and on the edge of tears. He shook Dean again, hard. “Dean, wake up! He’s breathing funny, Richard.”

“Don’t panic, yeah? We’re on our way. We’ve called for an ambulance – ”

But that didn’t matter, because Dean’s breaths were becoming increasingly shallow and loud, air dragging against his vocal chords as if he couldn’t suck in enough air. 

Aidan dropped his phone on the bed, and pulled the man up from under his arms. With quickness he didn’t know he was capable of, he wedged his body between the blonde’s and the headboard, supporting the trembling body tight against him. With Dean’s head resting back on his shoulder, the change in position seemed to ease his breathing because the grating gasps lessened some. However, he remained pliant and unresponsive, and the knot in Aidan’s chest tightened even further.

_Dean was fine last night_. Aidan cursed to himself, his thoughts a whirlwind as he tried to process what possibly could have happened.

“It’s okay. You’re fine. We’ll get this sorted out.”

____________________

 

When Richard arrived, barreling through the door and quickly followed by Martin, Adam, Graham, and Charlie Lex (who looked by all means, haggard, as if he’d just rolled out of bed) – the sight that greeted them was truly gut wrenching.

Stumbling to the bed, heart in his throat, he locked eyes with Aidan.

“I… I tried to sit him up some, he’s not breathing right,” Aidan clutched the small body even tighter, supporting Dean’s head with his hand as he weakly gasped against his shoulder.

“What happened, Aid?” Lex pushed passed Richard, who had paused at the foot of the bed, and crawled up to sit on his knees by Dean’s chest. He shouldered off his medical bag and immediately went for his radial pulse.

Aidan shook his head, shifting the blonde up a little higher. “I-I don't know. He was late this morning. I just went to check on him.”

“Damn. He’s tachy and arrhythmic. Richard, you call for the ambulance yet?”

Seeming to snap from his shocked daze, Richard nodded.

Lex dropped Dean’s wrist and then studied his features with sharp eyes. Fast, irregular pulse. Slight cyanosis and shallow breathing, indicating low oxygen saturation. Cool, clammy skin. Entirely unresponsive. Then, his eyes took in the ice packs surrounding the elevated knee – and that’s when it clicked.

“Shit, what’d they give him? What’s he taking for narcotics?”

Aidan’s brow creased. “They… They just refilled it last night. Uh, hydro-something.”

“Hydromorphone. Where’s the bottle?”

Aidan looked to the bedside table where he remembered Dean discarding the bottle, and Lex followed his gaze, immediately seizing it.

“What the…” His eyes grew wide as he read the printed label.

“What is it?” Aidan demanded. In his periphery, he could suddenly hear sirens. The loud wailing, although welcomed, only drew his anxiety higher.

“Richard, can you please guide them to this trailer? Aid, help me carry him outside, we don’t have time to wait.”

“What _happened_ , Lex?" 

“He overdosed. Misprint on the label. If he took the max dose then he’s more than doubled what’s considered safe. Now c’mon, help me get him outside.”

____________________

 

The ride to the nearest hospital took only twenty minutes, but to Aidan, they couldn’t get there fast enough. The paramedics had thankfully allowed him to ride up front, and from his position he had a nauseating view of the medic dispensing a syringe full medicine into Dean's nose, establishing two large bore IVs which bled down onto the gurney, and then Dean, suddenly awake – delirious and dry heaving and _fighting_ the hands trying to subdue him.

And there was nothing Aidan could do but watch.

____________________

 

“Mr. Aidan Turner?”

Aidan paused his incessant pacing within the waiting room, and turned to meet the physician, clad in blue scrubs and wearing an optimistic expression. Taking three large strides to reach the man, Aidan held out his hand, the others close behind him.

“I’m Aidan,” He said, and cut right to the chase. “How is he?”

“Doctor Trask,” The physician shook his hand. “I was just with him, and he’s given me permission to speak with you all." 

Aidan deflated at that, because giving permission meant his friend was _blessedly awake_.

“So he’s awake? How’s he doing?” Richard found his voice, and spoke for them all.

“He’s doing well, considering. Your medic was correct in his initial diagnosis. There was an error on his prescription bottle and he overdosed on hydromorphone. As an antidote, we’ve been infusing him with a drug called Narcan. It binds to the same sites in his brain as the opioids would, effectively blocking the drug.”

“That’s good, yeah? So he’ll be okay?” Martin asked.

Aidan’s heart dropped when the doctor hesitated. “Narcan is a miracle drug, so yes, while it’s great that it has blocked any further interactions, it will also block any other medications we try to administer for pain relief for his knee. Unfortunately, this means he’s in a great deal of discomfort until we can schedule surgery to correct the torn ligaments."

“Ah, that boy’s gonna have a fit,” Graham said gruffly, acutely remembering Dean's refusal.

Aidan’s brow furrowed and he said firmly, “Yeah, well, he’s not gonna have a choice.”

____________________

 

Dean must have been every bit as miserable as he looked. Curly hair was disheveled and sticking up in all directions. His face was pulled tight in a grimace, and his complexion pale and sickly looking. A green emesis bag was clutched tightly in his left hand as nausea threatened to overwhelm him.

At the sight, Aidan was torn whether to strangle the guy, or hold him tightly in his arms.

Dean’s glassy, half-mast eyes met his, and his wall crumbled. He was at the bedside before he knew he had moved.

“Shit, Dean.”

The blonde tried to tug down his oxygen mask, but Aidan held it in place.

“‘m okay,” He said. “Don’ worry." 

Aidan barked out a laugh and collapsed into the chair next to the bed. “You are _not_ okay, not by a long shot. And stop saying you are. God, you almost _died_.”

Dean shifted some and winced when he realized his knee was held tightly in a hard brace. He blinked dazedly up to Aidan. “Wha’ happened?”

Aidan took his free hand and rubbed his eyes, feeling himself deflate even further. “The pharmacy screwed up your meds, and you overdosed. I found you this morning when you were late to makeup, you were,” Aidan cleared his throat, blinking away tears as reality seemed to finally settle in. “You were barely breathing.”

The Kiwi studied his face as well as he could through his uncertainty and pain. But his friend’s distress was easily palpable. “‘m sorry.”

“Not your fault. But no arguments when we schedule your surgery for this week.”

_That_ seemed to wake him up from his half-stupor because Aidan suddenly had his arms full trying to wrestle him back to the bed.

“But…”

“ _No_ , Dean. Lay down.”

“Can’t." 

“Relax!”

Dean fell heavily back into his pillow, the fight leaving him suddenly, and he felt completely void of strength. “But filming. Peter… I can’t.”

“We talked to Peter this morning. Dean, he was going to approach you today about taking a few days off, he knew you were in pain.”

But the smaller man continued to shake his head, clearly in denial about his health.

“He’s going to visit later today when you’re feeling a bit better, and tell you that himself. They can work around our scenes until you’re back on your feet.”

And still yet, Dean looked as if he wanted to challenge him. The Irishman softened his features and reached to brush his fingers through the messy hair, calmingly.

“You need to stop the self-sacrificing, Deano. Let us help you get better,” He paused to straighten out the blankets and pull them up to cover his shoulders. “Now rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

So Dean closed his eyes, felt Aidan’s soft hand take his, and he drifted into a restful sleep knowing all would be okay.


	2. B is for (The Art of) Breathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Quick Notes :**  
>  Thank you so much to everyone who gave kudos and commented! It’s sincerely inspiring me to continue. I love all your prompts and have saved every one. I promise to try my best to get to them all. We have a lot of chapters to get through, so even if you don’t see yours right away, it’ll eventually get posted. Seriously, the hardest part about starting this second chapter was deciding who to whump and how to whump them. Oh, the possibilities :o)
> 
> I promise next chapter won’t be another RPF. I just couldn’t help myself. Hobbit RPF is my comfort zone, I haven’t written for Hobbit or TAJ at all yet… but I promise one of those will be next!
> 
> For those of you who aren’t familiar with Charlie Lex, he is an OC from The Katipo.
> 
> Also, this was completely inspired by this interview here:  
> http://lilarosa712.tumblr.com/post/111798851767/littlehawk-and-lionheart-a-very-animated-deano  
> ^ It's adorable. Check it out.
> 
> **Chapter Two Warnings :** descriptions of a near-drowning, M/M (if you don't squint, you'll miss it)

The entire cast had piled into Soundstage 1, and stood atop the finely crafted edge of the river, a near perfect replica of the Forest River from _The Hobbit_. Surrounding them, the crew had built an incredible scene: a wide river that turned at gentle angles, with a backdrop of both steep and rock gorges, and grassy banks. The picturesque sight would be later edited into the second Hobbit movie as what would famously become known as “the barrel scene”.

At the insistence of their director Peter, they waded into the cool, still waters with hesitant steps – except for Jed, who boisterously jumped in with both feet.

“I hope you all went to the loo before this,” James grumbled as he clumsily fought his way into his barrel with the help of one of the crew. “If I get a mouthful of this water, I will not be a happy man.”

Aidan laughed, already in his barrel, and swayed himself heavily to and fro. “Quit your grumbling, James!”

Off to the side, Stephen, whose movements were incredibly sluggish as his fat suit soaked up with water, struggled to get into his barrel. It took three crewmembers to successfully plop him inside, and another few moments to get him standing upright and comfortable.

Dean smiled at the sight of his cast-mates, all the good-natured complaining and jokes warming his spirits despite the cold water. The thought quickly passed through his mind, as it did every so often, that he couldn’t believe he got paid for having this much _fun_. 

“Who are we getting this time?” Aidan had paddled up to where Dean stood waist-deep in the river. He whispered, “I’m thinking Graham. We haven’t pranked him since we got back from break, and he’s looking a bit bashful today.”

A ways down the river, Graham, dressed in his massive Dwalin costume, was stepping himself delicately into the barrel from the shoreline. He grimaced at the feel of the cool water, his face wrinkled in apprehension from going in any deeper.

Aidan smirked, looking mischievous, and Dean grinned at him. “I like your way of thinking, Aid.”

“Alright, alright!” Peter interrupted them from his megaphone atop the crane. “O’Gorman, into your barrel please! Let’s get into places.”

“Just watch me,” The Irishman winked at him, and innocently paddled over to Graham, who was still looking rather moody. As Dean climbed into his barrel, he could just overhear Aidan say, “G’day mate, why the long face?”

“Lee,” Peter shouted, “Start up the engines to a four. We’ll go ‘round a few times to get comfortable, then get in order and go a bit faster. Ready?”

The huge engines roared with a powerful groan, and a current began to push them lazily down the river. The first time around went smoothly, and the more times they lapped, the more comfortable they felt. Within three turns, Aidan had pushed Graham’s barrel sideways, effectively dumping the stunned man for a second, before righting him again. Graham sputtered through his face full of water, and looked livid for only a moment, before bursting out laughing with the rest of the cast.

After another two laps around the long, winding river, crewmembers in divers suits grabbed their barrels and held them in place against the current. With Peter’s guidance, they placed them in their correct positions, and waited for the director’s cue.

“Alright, looks good. Go ahead and release the barrels, and crew – out of the water! Lee, engines up to seven!”

The engines whirred loudly then, and the current was suddenly pushing them faster. Dean readied his sword and adjusted his stance in the barrel, ready for filming to begin.

“Action!" 

They rounded the river three times, each time getting more accustomed to the faster current, and more comfortable with balancing atop it.

But then, over the rush of the water, Dean heard Peter’s muffled voice shout, “Pump it up to twelve!"

With wide eyes, Dean reached out and gripped the wooden barrel with one hand, now barely able to keep himself balanced inside. The plaster rocks and bushes swirled passed him in a rush of color, and he could barely keep track of the other actors as they bobbed on the huge white caps of the foaming river.

Ahead of him, Aidan hit the side of the river in such a way that his barrel dipped sideways and his face went under. Dean panicked, was almost ready to jump in, when Aidan was able to right himself and came up, eyes wide and gasping for air.

This was not right. Anxiety formed in the pit of his stomach, curling deep as he saw through the spray of water each of his friends disappear at some point into the dark waters. Had Peter not noticed? Did he not see the danger? Dean had half a mind to shout for help, but as he rounded the third corner, his cue to reach up with his sword was upon him, and he was forced to do so.

Bracing his knees against the wood, Dean extended his body just as he’d been directed, sword up and ready to pierce the invisible orc standing at the river’s edge (to be added in later, due to sizing issues). But just as he reached forward, a powerful gush of water hit him squarely in the face, tipping his barrel backwards, and he was thrown in the river, utterly stunned.

The wall of water must have knocked him unconscious for a second, because when awareness returned, Dean felt his body floating horizontally under the roiling river. A second later, still dazed and not fully aware, he reflexively opened his mouth to inhale, and a rush of water filled him. 

That’s when panic hit full force. Dean jerked, eyes blown wide and unseeing in the murky river. Instincts took over, and he was kicking, trying to find which way was up but the water had him turning and summersaulting, and his heavy boots and sodden fat suit dragged him further and further under. Another swell of water pushed him sideways, and that’s when his head connected with what seemed to be the sideboards of the river.

The second blow to his head stunned him even more, and he lost what little of the fight he had left. Terrified, he couldn’t stop the choking inhale of water, and it flooded his mouth and stomach and lungs, and Dean’s body seized against it as he literally drowned in what should have been the safest and most controlled setting on set.

The vibrations of the river’s engines abruptly silenced, and the current gradually began to slow. He imagined Peter or one of the crew had noticed his disappearance, but, petrified, he knew it was too late. He twitched pitifully one last time, the need to breathe almost paralyzing, and that’s when his body finally went limp, floating in the water.

Unconsciousness came quickly then, drowning the agonizing burn in his lungs and the terror in his heart.

____________________

 

Aidan was still clutching his barrel and evading the mock attack of the orcs when he heard Peter’s panicked shouts over the megaphone to cut the engines. The powerful roar ceased, and, confused, he looked around as the whitecaps lessened and the current slowed.

With a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his white-knuckled grip eased some, and Aidan was left searching the still waters for what had been the problem.

“ _Shit_ ,” Richard’s sudden curse startled him, and the man abandoned his barrel and waded upstream. They had been at the front of the company, and it was impossible to see what had gone wrong, but Richard’s reaction had him abandoning his barrel as well and following as quickly as he could.

The others were already many feet ahead of them, wading upstream, their dwarven hats and wigs soaked in water and bobbing as they fought to get where a group of crewmembers had rushed into the river. Aidan’s frown deepened, his gut feeling telling him something had gone terribly wrong, and that’s when he saw it.

An empty, upturned barrel.

No, not one of the rest of the company’s who sat in a pile downstream, just recently abandoned. This one was broken, having long lost the dwarf that was supposed to be inside. Panicked, he scanned the heads of his friends, seeing who was missing, and when he couldn’t find the blonde wig amongst them, his breath caught in his throat.

_Dean_.

Ahead of them, crewmembers had dived into the water and just as quickly as they had appeared, they were pulling a waterlogged body in their arms to shore.

“Someone get the medic!” One of the crew shouted, and another: “Call an ambulance!”

“He’s not breathing!”

“ _Oh God_ ,” Aidan felt like throwing up as a surge of adrenaline tore through his body. In seconds, he had climbed the steep bank of the river and sprinted over to his friend.

“Let me in there, Aidan!” Charlie Lex, their set medic, roughly shoved him aside and dropped to his knee at Dean’s head. The seasoned set-medic was a well-known entity since the beginning of filming, and had formed deep relationships with many of the cast and crew as he patched them up from daily stunts and mishaps on set. At over 6 feet tall and pushing 250 pounds, he was at first glance an imposing figure, but those who knew him knew he was merely a gentle giant – until one of his own was in danger.

Arms grabbed Aidan then, holding his swaying body steady; it was Richard and Graham, and they stood just as shocked he did, hearts frozen at the sight below.

Dean was limp, water dripping in rivulets against his colorless skin, mixing with the blood from a small cut on his temple. Foam dribbled out of his slack, blue lips.

“He’s got a pulse,” Lex said, and immediately prepared for rescue breathing. With a modified jaw-thrust, he did a quick check for excess water, and then pinched his nose closed, and pressed his lips against Dean’s.

The ashen cheeks puffed, but otherwise he remained still.

“Come on, dammit,” Lex muttered between breaths, watching terrified as the chest rose and fell, but not on its own accord. “Don’t do this.”

Another three breaths, pulse check.

“Don’t you do this, Dean!”

“Oh, God,” Aidan whimpered.

The rescue breathing continued, and yet Dean still laid there, eyes half-mast, sightless, completely still.

“No,” Lex demanded, gave another breath. “No, not on my watch. Breathe!”

And then, seconds later, Dean’s chest heaved upwards and foam and water were bubbling from his mouth.

“Help me turn him! Quickly!”

Aidan and Richard dove down, and with Lex and a few of the crew, they turned him to his side.

“He’s got a lot of fluid coming out. That’s good, Dean. Easy does it, buddy. Cough it out,” Lex soothed him as he efficiently immobilized his neck within his hands.

Dean heaved and coughed, expelling copious amounts of water from his lungs and stomach. With pupils blown wide with shock, pitiful distressed moans escaped between his wet lips.

“Richard, move his legs for me, at a right angle to his torso.”

With hands shaking so badly, Richard quickly angled Dean’s legs to help expel more water from his lungs.

“That’s it, pal. You’re doing great.” 

Another minute passed before Dean went limp, muscles losing their fight as he stopped choking up water, and shallowly wheezed for breath.

“Alright, good, let’s get him back. Aidan, wanna talk to him, please? Keep him calm for me.”

Aidan shakily dropped to his knees beside Dean’s head. He took the limp, cold hand into his, and with his other hand, he brushed the wig back from his face. Dean’s appearance left his heart in his throat; if the man hadn’t been conscious, he would have looked _dead_.

“Dean? You with me?” Aidan asked, finally finding his trembling voice, “Listen to me, listen to me, okay? You’re fine. We got you out, you’re safe.”

Dean couldn’t respond through his huge, wheezing breaths, verging on hyperventilation. He was blinking up at him, eyes glassy, owlish, and he didn’t give any response or sign that he could hear what Aidan was saying.

“I have you. I’ve got you, do you understand me? You’re okay, Dean.”

But he wasn’t.

Dean clearly needed oxygen and medical care, and they were all pathetically inadequate substitutes until help arrived.

“Has the ambulance been called?” He asked desperately.

Shoulder to shoulder with Aidan, Lex was palpating Dean’s cervical vertebrae very carefully, feeling closely for any breaks in his neck, and when he found none, he released him from his tight hold.

“They’re on their way, Aid, and should be here within fifteen minutes. You’re doing great with him. Let’s say we get him out of this costume, alright? He’s shivering and going in to shock, and we need to get him warm. Peter, can you fetch towels, blankets, anything? James, can you get my med bag?”

Already anticipating the need, crewmembers had previously grabbed the pile of towels that had been prepared for the cast after filming was complete, and they placed them by Dean’s side.

“Here, I’ll hold him,” With a gentle touch, Richard switched places with Lex and reached under Dean’s shoulders. He carefully lifted him against his torso so the others could start piecing off the many layers of his water-laden costume. Aidan and Graham worked patiently to remove his coat, leather jerkin, hooded undershirt, fat-suit, and pants, while Adam unlaced and removed the heavy boots. All the while, the Kiwi remained pliant and stunned under their hands.

“Dean, we’re getting you out of your clothes so we can get you warm and dry, okay?” Lex said as he tried to reorient the clearly confused man. Dean was bound to be still experiencing the hazy state between coherency and semi-consciousness. From many years back as a critical care flight paramedic, he had cared for many victims of near-drownings, and one thing always remained the same: effects of hypoxia scrambled a person’s ability to think and discern the present. As important as it was to treat the patient physically, it was just as important to reorient and keep them settled. “You took in some water in the river, but we have you on land now. You’re getting air just fine, so let’s concentrate on slowing down that breathing, yeah? Take some slower breaths, Dean. Listen to me. You’re going to be fine, slow down some.”

By that time, Dean had been unclothed down to his briefs, and his pale, nearly translucent skin was covered in goose bumps and his muscles quaked from the shock and cold.

“Easy does it, Deano,” Richard whispered soothingly. He placed him back flat on his back and reached over for the towels. Him and Aidan wiped down his wet skin and rubbed the curly hair, and then swaddled him in the soft towels.

“Lex,” James stated, grabbing the man’s attention to pass him the large med bag and had retrieved from the other side of the building.

With a nod of thanks, Lex quickly dug through it and took out his stethoscope and blood pressure cuff. He tugged down the towels and blankets around Dean’s chest and abdomen, and attentively listened to his chest.

Tachypnea, bilateral wheezing and rales, but good air exchange; all to be expected from a near drowning. He paused over the heart, hearing tachycardia but thankfully no cardiac dysrhythmias.

Placing his stethoscope aside, he used carefully fingertips to palpate Dean’s abdomen. The belly was swollen and tight, clearly having had swallowed a large amount of water from the river. Peripherally then, he saw heard more than saw an abrupt change in consciousness from the Kiwi, so he moved back.

“Dean, no, stop,” Aidan said, his voice higher and tight with stress. Dean had begun to shift and try to weakly push off the blankets surrounding him.

The man grunted and let out a feeble cough. His voice was weak and rough from inhaling so much water. “’m okay. ‘m okay.”

“Hey, now,” Richard chastised as he saw Aidan struggle to keep Dean calm. Swiftly, he took his wrists, effectively restraining him. “Let’s keep these blankets on for a little bit.”

“Richard’s right. Keep them on.” 

“Thought you… liked… seeing me in… my skivvies… Turner?” Dean wheezed between huge gulps of air.

Despite the overwhelming sense of distress he was still feeling, Aidan felt his face glow bright red.

Richard merely chuckled. “There’s a time and place for that later, little one.”

Dean laughed at that, which immediately turned into a string of harsh coughs.

“Talk to me, Dean. How are you feeling?” Lex was all business, and he studied the man beneath them, searching for any furthering signs of distress.

“I’m fine,” he cleared his raw throat and tried to speak more clearly. “Let me up?”

“No!” Bewildered, those closest to him held him down as he readied himself to sit up, but weakly, he collapsed back down again. Still glassy-eyed and struggling for breath, his symptoms were blatantly visible through his protests.

Lex shook his head. “That will _not_ be happening any time soon. You weren’t breathing a moment ago, and you’re confused. Now tell me how you’re really feeling.”

“Uh,” Dean closed his eyes, concentrating. His body wouldn’t stop shaking, and his chest and stomach felt tight and heavy. “I’m okay. Just little… short of breath.” 

“Very normal, pal. But you still need to be checked out by the hospital. At the very least you have a mild concussion, and there’s a chance you could develop pneumonia. You need to have x-rays done.”

“They’re here!” One of the producer’s voices echoed at the far end of the soundstage, and within moments, he had guided two paramedics to the scene.

In succession, the majority of those who had gathered stepped back to make room, except for Aidan, Richard, and Lex, who sat rooted by their friend’s side. The paramedics quickly deposited their gear and knelt close to Dean, assessing their patient with sharp eyes.

“Hey, there,” the female medic smiled warmly down at him. She patted his forearm, and then subtly slid her fingers down to his wrist to take his radial pulse. “We heard someone took a dunk in the water. You must be the lucky one, am I right?”

“Always the lucky… one,” Dean murmured. He was beginning to feel more and more tired, and was finding it harder to keep his eyes open between blinks. He could literally feel his system begin to crash as the adrenaline faded away.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Um… Dean.”

Above him, and older paramedic slipped an oxygen mask around his head, fastening it close to his face. The blast of high-concentrated oxygen provided an instant relief to his aching lungs. 

“What happened exactly?” The woman asked as she used her stethoscope to listen closely to his respirations.

“We found him in the water with no respiratory effort and a weak pulse. We gave him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and within two minutes of pulling him out of the water he had spontaneous respirations,” Lex said. “He hit his head at some point, no obvious skull or cervical fractures that I could feel. Glasgow of 13. Lungs are pretty congested.”

“Yeah,” she muttered in agreement, and abandoned the stethoscope to palpate his swollen belly. “He definitely took in a lot of water. Any chemicals in this water?”

“None, it’s clean,” someone off to the side answered.

The other paramedic was busy taking Dean’s vital signs and preparing an IV. “Cath, blood pressure’s in the drain, 80/55. Pulse 50, resps 35. I’m prepping a fluid bolus.”

Her frown at the numbers did nothing to soothe Aidan’s still-climbing anxiety. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe Dean’s protests earlier that the man was feeling okay, but watching the medic’s alarm unfold in front of him left his heart clenching in his chest. Dean had to be okay… right? 

But the growing pallor of Dean’s skin, and increasingly lethargic movements had Aidan suddenly doubting himself. The blond was abruptly deteriorating right in front of his eyes, just minutes after a conversation and a _joke_.

“Something’s wrong,” Aidan’s throat was tight from the adrenaline, his voice high-pitched. “There’s something wrong with him. He-he was okay just a few minutes ago. Talking.”

Cath finished clipping the pulse oximeter onto Dean’s finger, then leaned over his head. “You with us, Dean?”

Eyes glazed and gazing up at nothing in particular, he paused a few beats before answering with a feeble moan. 

“Murray, he’s fading.” Cath warned the other medic.

“Do a Glasgow on him, and call it in. I’ll get another IV set and then we need to wrap and run.”

“Aidan,” Lex said softly. The set-medic who towered over Aidan gently – but firmly – took his elbow and pulled them back, giving the medics more room. Standing over the scene, and no longer feeling his friend beneath him, made everything seem so much more real, more frightening.

“Lex, what’s happening?” Aidan whispered so softly, not wanting to miss anything important that the medics might be saying, but stuck on the very fact that, moments ago, Dean seemed _fine_.

Sensing Aidan’s struggle, and feeling him practically vibrating against his side from panic, Lex kept his grasp firmly rooted around him. Being a seasoned paramedic himself gave him all the experience and knowledge he needed to assume Dean either had a rapidly worsening brain injury from the trauma, a hypoxic brain injury from the submersion, or a deadly combination of the two. But burdening Aidan with this information would do little good, especially if he was wrong in his assumptions, so Lex was left feeling helpless in his comfort.

Beneath them, Cath was mumbling to herself as she went through the motions of obtaining a score for the Glasgow Coma Scale. Aidan shifted against him again, trying to watch, and getting increasingly upset, as he didn’t understand her purpose.

It was then that Lex found his duty. He could describe this clinical tool in his sleep, and as he began to explain it to Aidan, he found comfort in it just as much as the other man. “She’s measuring his brain function right now. She’s going to measure his eye responsiveness, his verbal responses, and his motor skills. Alright? You with me? Looks like his eye response is a 3. He opened his eyes when she called to him. That’s good, Aidan. And now she’s going to ask him some questions to see if he’s oriented.”

Lex paused and they heard Cath asking Dean if he knew who he was, or where he was. Dean didn’t respond except for a few mumbled, breathy sounds.

“His appropriate verbal responses aren’t there, but he is responding with sounds. That means he’s got a score of 2. And now Cath is going to check how he responds to pain.”

“To pain?” Aidan asked incredulously. Doe-eyed and ashen-looking, he shook his head at Lex. “They’re going to hurt him?”

“Not actually hurt him, no,” He said quickly, “Watch.”

Cath wasted no time in performing a central painful stimulus. Creating a fist, she used her knuckles to rub up and down across his mid-sternum, watching intently for any facial and bodily reactions. Instinctively, Dean winced, his body shrinking into itself. His arms curled inwards and wrists flexed in against the pain.

“Decorticate posturing,” Lex grimaced, but found himself back-tracking as Aidan immediately picked up on his disposition. “Not the best, but that’s okay. He reacted to the pain, Aidan. That means he has a total score of – ”

“GCS of 8!” Cath called out to her partner. She swore when she then saw her patient’s flagging oxygen saturation. “He’s still dyspneic, and pulse ox is down to 85 even with the oxygen. He must have aspirated. Murray, he needs to be on CPAP. We need to go!”

Their movements began to blur as the two medics rushed to prepare Dean for transport and put away their gear. Within a minute, they had loaded him onto the stretcher and were running towards the ambulance, their precious cargo now limp and unresponsive between them.

Mouth agape, Aidan watched his friend disappear through his increasingly blurry vision. Two sets of hands grasped his upper arms tightly, and through his tears, he saw Richard and Lex holding him up in concern.

“Breathe, Aidan,” Richard’s deep voice commanded of him.

A rush of air shakily escaped his lungs, halfway turning from a pitiful moan into a sob.

“Holy shit,” He whimpered as his vision began to swirl. “ _Fuck_.”

“Hey, hey, do you need to sit? You’re okay, you’re fine.” Someone was saying to him, but damn them all, because _of course he was okay_ , it was _Dean_ who wasn’t. Using his numb fingers, he pushed passed the hands that grabbed him, intent on finding his car if he could even remember where it was parked, so he could drive to the hospital.

“Aidan! Hey!”

“Stop!”

Richard and Lex were there in front of him again, restraining his progress with strong hands.

“ _Aidan_!” Richard bellowed, and that was what finally snapped the younger man out of his daze. “Just stop for a minute. Follow me. We’re taking my truck, and Lex is driving because he knows where the hospital is. Okay?”

Meekly, lost for words, Aidan could only nod, and surrounded by his friends and costars, quickly made way to find Dean.

____________________

 

Two hours later, which had been filled with pacing and fidgeting and coffee runs, they were finally approached by a small-statured physician. The woman was middle-aged and motherly looking, her red hair pulled back hastily into a bun. Her relaxed demeanor was one of the first things they noticed, and they found themselves immediately deflating as she approached with a smile.

“You’re here for Dean, I’m assuming?” Her eyes crinkled. “The costumes gave it away. We had a tough time removing that moustache of his.”

Richard, Aidan, and Adam looked down at themselves, having completely forgotten they were still dressed in their dwarven, battle-ready costumes. It was no wonder they had gotten strange looks in the waiting area.

“Dr. Kate Karras,” she introduced herself with firm handshakes.

“How is he?” 

“Awake and wanting to go back on set this afternoon. Mighty stubborn, he is.”

Richard blew out a relieved breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Yeah he is.”

“We’ve done x-rays of both his head and chest. Good news is no skull fracture, but he’s definitely suffering from a mild concussion. When I bring you back to see him, the lights have been dimmed and we’ll want you to keep the noise to a minimum, as he’s very sensitive to stimulation right now. We did see some pulmonary edema on his chest x-ray, which is consistent with the water he inhaled, and we’ll be doing follow up x-rays to watch for any progression. We’ve given him a diuretic through his IV to hopefully move that fluid out of there. He’s still a little wheezy, so we’re giving him some albuterol through his mask before we get him settled into a private room. We’ve also placed a nasogastric tube in through his nose; it runs down to his stomach and it will remove all the water he took in. Having his belly so full was making him quite nauseous and there was a chance he could further aspirate those fluids, so we needed to decompress it as soon as he arrived.”

Aidan pulled a hand down his face and scrubbed his eyes. He didn’t understand half of what the doctor was saying, and so he felt himself asking again, desperately, “But he’s okay?”

Doctor Karras smiled warmly, understanding his distress. “What’s important is that his neurological functioning is good. He has an excellent prognosis, we just need to monitor him for a few days and make sure he doesn’t develop any infection in his lungs. Would you like to see him now?”

____________________

 

The trauma room had been dimmed due to Dean’s concussion, the only light emitting from an x-ray viewer on the wall. Against it, a picture of Dean’s chest was displayed; patchy infiltrates in plain view against densely lit ribs.

Bathed in the soft glow of the light, Aidan could tell Dean had been propped up on his side by firm pillows along his back and legs. He and Richard had to walk around the gurney to see their friend’s face.

Dean looked incredibly sickly, the monitoring equipment around him dwarfing his already small frame, and had Doctor Karras not told them he would be okay, Aidan would be thinking of the worst.

Sensing someone’s presence near, Dean’s eyes slowly cracked open. Once his eyes cleared and they came into focus, the Kiwi smiled beneath the oxygen mask. “Hey.”

“Hey, little one,” Richard reached down to push an errant curl from his forehead. His hand lingered there a moment, feeling warmth, _life_.

“Dean,” was all Aidan managed, and with clumsy fingers, took Dean’s hand within his own.

Beneath the oxygen mask and aerosolized albuterol, a large tube had been inserted into his left nostril and trailed to attach to a receptacle on the wall. Even after two hours on low-intermittent suction, fluid was still draining from his overloaded stomach. Electrodes had been placed along Dean’s bare chest, which still heaved and wheezed for breath, and wires trails from them up to a telemetry machine above their heads. And worse, snaking beneath the blankets, a catheter had been placed to drain his full bladder; Lasix had been introduced into his IV to help the fluid drain from his lungs, and in doing so, significantly increased his urine output.

They must’ve given him the good stuff, because Dean felt no pain and things were a little fuzzy. But he could still sense their worry just through their touch, and he felt the overwhelming need to reassure them.

“I’m okay,” his voice was muffled from the mask and scratchy from the tube running down his throat.

Aidan was two seconds away from cuffing him up top the head, because if he heard Dean say that one more time, he was going to explode. Richard must have sensed his budding frustration, because he immediately took over.

“Yeah. Yeah, you are now, Dean. But you look exhausted. You just sleep, you’re going to feel better in no time. They’re moving you to a private room soon.” 

Dean must have been holding on to consciousness out of sheer determination, for as soon as the older man suggested rest, he promptly let himself fall into a more peaceful sleep.

“He’s a piece of work,” Aidan said fondly after blowing out a shaky breath.

Richard grinned and pulled up to two chairs next to the bed. Dutifully, they each sat and got themselves comfortable, preparing for the long days ahead of them. 

“He’s a tough kid,” Richard said, watching him sleep. “He’ll be okay.”

Aidan nodded, eyes never leaving the man on the gurney. Dean’s pulse and blood pressure had regulated, and although his oxygen sats were still low, they were much better than they had been before. Color had returned to his cheeks, and his skin was warmed. All signs pointed to him being on the mend, and even if there would be some bumps in his recovery, they would handle it together, as friends and as family.

“Yeah. Yeah, he will be.”


	3. C is for Casted (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes :** This chapter was extremely frustrating and was rewritten about five times. It’s also a two-part, because it’s very long, and I’m still fighting with the ending, so I wanted to at least give you an update.  
>  Once the next part is posted, the next chapter will be soon to follow – it’s a Hobbit fic and is already almost done!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who gave kudos and commented; as always, it is the main inspiration for these chapters. This one is dedicated to **mjeanuniverse** and **MatildaJohnson** , who both asked for some Anders whump. I hope this lives up to your whump standards (but believe me, this is only the beginning.... just wait for next chapter)!
> 
> This came out a little more angsty than I had intended, but seriously guys, Anders angst just writes itself.
> 
>  **Chapter Three Warnings :** Some swearing… okay, a lot of swearing. The Johnson brothers tend to do that in crisis mode.

The world was swirling in front of him, like a fucking merry-go-round, or one of the worst cases of the spins he’d ever had. Anders found himself blinking to try to steady it all, but the dizzying scene in front of him didn’t slow down, and instead only worsened, and that’s when the nausea came. He had half a conscious thought that maybe he should try sitting up before he puked – _but when had he even lied down in the first place?_

_What the fuck had happened?_

One minute he’d been buying a drink for a cute brunette at the end of the bar, and the next? The next he had woken up suddenly on his side.

His brain tried to catch up with what he was seeing, but something just wasn’t clicking; his body felt strangely numb, and his arms prickled like pins and needles. Something just wasn’t right, but he was too out of it to try to piece together the puzzle. Anders grimaced as the overhead lights slapped on and pushed the threshold of his already throbbing head up another few levels.

“- _out… here, kid!_ ” Fuzzy, broken speech pierced through his ringing ears.

Blinking furiously to try to clear his blurred vision, his lips parted and he sucked in a shaky breath. He inhaled must and the smell of stale beer through his nose, and alternatively puffed away dust and dirt from his gaping mouth as he struggled for air.

Bar. He was lying on the bar floor, on his side. Everything was tilted sideways.

_But why the fuck was he on the floor?_

Anders swallowed thickly around a tongue that was sluggish and stuck between his upper and lower teeth. Faintly, he could taste blood.

“Wha…?” He coughed weakly, and tried to roll onto his stomach, but there was a disconnect between his brain and his limbs. After a few moments of straining, and he collapsed weakly back to his side, effectively stranded.

“What…?” Barely able to think, he tried again, this time trying to slide his heavy and for some reason unresponsive arms under his body to gain purchase and push up –

And that was when his entire upper body exploded into pain. Any breath left in him escaped in a wheeze of surprise, grating over his vocal chords, rough and whistling.

“ _Anders!_ ” Someone familiar was calling his name from far away. “ _Anders!_ ”

Tendrils of memory fell upon him as his arms and chest seized, muscles clenching painfully around broken bones and dislocated joints. A bar patron had thrown him hard, nearly across the room. A flash of a table and a wooden chair was the last thing he’d seen, then he’d lost time, and he was only beginning to become aware of the hectic activity around him again.

With a start, Anders saw huge black boots pounding towards him, the vibration against the floor sending a whole new drilling of pain through his skull. Although he couldn’t see Black Boot’s face, the man’s presence was terrifying in itself, and his body clutched reflexively around itself.

“No,” he gurgled out, but couldn’t do more than lay there, still confused and near delirious in pain, bracing for an impact.

Instead of a kick from Black Boot’s though, pressure was suddenly under his arms, _yanking_ , and he was lifted into the air like he weighed little more than a child.

And then he was screaming, choking on his own cries.

“ _Put him down! Stop it!_ ”

There was a rush of cool night air, and then he was tossed through the back door leading into the alleyway. Stumbling, his legs couldn’t keep up with the force of being thrown, and Anders hit the brick wall with his right shoulder and back. Distantly, he heard another scream, but he couldn’t tell who the poor soul was, not with the cotton stuffing his ears, and the black swirls encroaching on his vision.

The blow must have knocked him unconscious for a moment, because when he blinked open his eyes again, he had already collapsed into a heap, curled against the wall, feeling flushed and trembling in shock.

Axl’s panicked face was in front of his, only a few inches away, and his lips were moving but Anders couldn’t make out what he was saying. The words were clearly directed at him, but the buzzing in his ears was preventing anything from being understood.

Shakily, he took in a breath, and the ringing slowly faded until he could hear Axl’s words. But just as his hearing came back, his adrenaline faded, and a wall of excruciating pain hit him again.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” he moaned, and he barely was able to turn his head in time to avoid vomiting all over Axl and himself. The fluid soaked the pavement and the side of his pants instead, and he gulped for air around the heaves. His body was revolting from the shock of his injuries (and maybe the shots of vodka and the couple lines he did earlier), and he suddenly felt cold and sweaty.

“Anders? Shit, Anders, can you hear me?” Axl actually looked scared, and was holding his cell mid-air, as if he couldn’t decide he should be calling someone or not.

“My arms,” he slurred, barely able to see Axl now as his vision sparkled and blackened around the edges. His arms were useless at his side, limp and screaming from multiple fractures. His left was in his lap, bent in places it shouldn’t be bending.

“- answer me, Anders. Stay right here, okay? I’m getting the car.”

With the way his vision was spinning, he couldn’t do any more than lie there and wait for his baby brother to return.

____________________

 

It was nearly halfway through Michele’s overnight shift when the pager on her hip began vibrating. Her brows furrowed as she read the text, and swore to herself.

_Wendy needs assist with trauma pt. Trauma rm 2._

“Oh for gods sake. Another one?”

She hated the overnight shifts, especially on the weekends. Late nights and alcohol tended to bring out the worst in people, and the ER saw an influx of inebriated, crying, and stupid people – and this patient was likely another to add to her ever-growing list.

Finishing up the nurse’s note on her last drunk patient, she logged off the computer and headed towards the trauma rooms. When the automatic door slid open, her stride stopped short, and her mouth fell slightly agape.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

Anders was sitting shirtless and hunched on the gurney, arms limp in his lap; both shoulders and limbs swollen and discolored. He had been dressed into light blue scrub bottoms. Axl, holding a clear plastic bag with a pair of soiled jeans inside, stood off to the side, and was looking mildly shocked and uncomfortable.

“Michele,” Anders’ gaze slowly rose to meet hers, but his eyes were half-mast and unfocused. He slurred, “Fancy seeing you here.”

Wendy, a young trauma nurse, was just removing a blood pressure cuff from Anders’ ankle, and she looked up as Michele entered the room.

“Glad you’re here,” her voice was on the edge of annoyance, and Michele assumed she had already gotten a taste of Anders’ personality. “Sounds like you two know each other, so I’ll skip the introductions. From what I gathered from his brother, he was in a bar fight this evening. Tossed across the room and into a table.”

“Not surprising,” Michelle muttered. Approaching the gurney, her sharp eyes catalogued his pinprick pupils, sickly complexion, and then slowly traced his clearly fractured arms and possibly dislocated shoulders.

“Vital signs are good, considering,” Wendy continued. “X-rays are being developed now, definitely some fractures and a mild concussion. He’s having a lot of pain but reflexes are intact. We’re holding off on narcotics and muscle relaxers until we get the full tox screen back. I was having trouble establishing a line, with his arms like this. I thought you might be able to lend a hand.” 

“Jesus. All right, go grab the IV cart. We can try for one in his leg.”

Michele waited until Wendy left, and just as the doors clicked shut, she turned back to her patient, who was beginning to list a little to his side.

Swearing under her breath, she sighed, “C’mon midget, lay down. Help me with him, Axl.”

With a clinical touch, she and Axl guided him down, supporting his arms the entire way. By the end of it, Anders had broken out in a sweat and was breathing heavily through his nose. Grabbing two spare pillows from the corner of the room, she wedged them underneath his arms, giving them more support.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he mumbled.

“How much did you take?” She asked cuttingly. Sliding her stethoscope from her neck and into her ears, she placed the bell directly over his heart, studying the stressed and frantic beats of his heart.

“Huh?”

“I need to know what and how much you’ve taken tonight.”

His blinks were long and heavy as he stared up at the ceiling. “Dunno.”

“Axl?” She turned to him impatiently.

“Uh,” Axl scratched the back of his neck and frowned. “A couple shots of vodka, and some beer at the bar.”

“What else?”

Axl shifted anxiously. “He went off to the bathroom earlier. He might’ve done something in there.”

“What’d you take in the bathroom, Anders?”

He swallowed and licked his dry lips. “Coke. I think. Want some?”

Michele sighed and shook her head in disgust. “You’re an idiot, did you know that?”

After a few seconds, a dopey grin broke out on his face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know. Get told that a lot.”

____________________

 

His x-ray results came back within the hour, and although it wasn’t the best news, he at least didn’t need surgery.

“Want to see the damage?”

Axl shifted closer to the bed, but still stayed silent, to get a closer look. Anders, though, looked on with disinterest as the ER physician approached them and held each film up to the light, pointing out each fracture. On his right: distal and ulnar fractures, closed midshaft humorous fracture, dislocated right shoulder and broken clavicle. On his left: broken scaphoid bone in his wrist, fractured radius, and sprained left elbow and shoulder; his skull films came back clear, and he merely had a mild concussion.

The sight of the xrays should have disturbed Anders, or even scared him at least a little, but he felt strangely nothing as he studied the grotesque pictures. So he _hmm_ ’d in acknowledgement, but he didn’t give much more of a response.

The physician, mistakenly perceiving this as fear or stress from the injuries, soothingly patted his thigh. “No need to be frightened about this, young man. As I said, none of these fractures require any internal fixations or corrective surgery at the moment, although we will have to revisit the possibility in the coming weeks if they aren’t stabilizing themselves properly. What we _are_ going to need to do, is reset some of these bones by performing closed reductions. Michele here is going to give you some meds to relax your muscles and control your pain once your blood panel comes back, and we’ll get you settled and ready to get out of here.”

After the doctor left, Michele was successful in starting an IV line in Anders’ foot, despite his small veins due his dehydration from the alcohol. She had just hung a banana bag and saline to rehydrate his shocked system, when she got a notification of his tox screen results on her portable tablet.

Scoffing and shaking her head as she read it, she said to him, “Your blood work came back. You’re lucky I’m here and care just enough that I’m able to alter the results.”

“Alter?” Axl asked.

“Yes, alter,” she said matter-of-factly. “As much as I like seeing your brother actually vulnerable and in pain, I’d rather not have to deal with the fallout of referring him to a mental health specialist and drug rehab. Plus, that’s when my charting becomes a bitch.”

Anders’ mouth quirked a little. “Ah, so you do care about me, then.”

“Hardly. Now shut up and let me fix this so we can get on with getting you out of my hair. I’m tired of hearing you bitch and moan.”

On the contrary, Anders had been abnormally quiet and _un-bitchy_ the whole night, and although it was a red flag for her, this was _Anders_ , and she had no interest in digging deeper.

After a trip to the med room, she slowly dispensed a small dose of morphine and methocarbamol into the IV port, and finished it off with a flush of saline. Immediately, the small Kiwi relaxed backed into the gurney, exhaling a long sigh.

“Thanks,” he breathed, just barely loud enough for her to hear.

“Don’t thank me yet. The hardest part is coming.”

Michele wasn’t lying. The _sonofabitch_ doctor kept pulling and pulling on his already broken arm until the ball of his shoulder popped back in his socket, and he swore he only screamed like a girl _once_. Axl had to be lead out of the room as he swayed on his feet and turned literally white; the sight of his brother nearly fainting should have made him laugh, except the pain was just too much. The next hour was spent slowly, tortuously, immobilizing, casting, and splinting his injured arms. 

Bending his elbows at 90-degree angles, the doctor splinted each arm from mid-upper arm to fingers, using a soft splint and dressings. A harder, plaster cast would be applied once the swelling had subsided. For his humeral fracture, the physician affixed a coaptation splint, which started at the base of his neck and went to join where his other cast began. It was heavily padded and kept his damaged upper arm strictly aligned. Finally, the physician placed both of his arms in slings, affixing them tightly to his chest.

“How’s that feel?” The doctor asked with a warm smile.

“Fine,” he lied with little concern to how he was truly feeling. The entire evening had left him exhausted and wanting desperately to go home to his apartment; the pain was starting to rear its ugly head again, and he was thinking he could just drown it down with a few more shots when he got home.

“Excellent! So we’ll have you make an appointment with your primary care physician for a follow up in about a week, and to get you into hard casts. In the meantime, you’re going to want to make sure you have some help around the home. It’s going to be near impossible to get any routine tasks done without help. Now Michele, I’ll leave you to get him ready for discharge while I type up his papers.”

____________________

 

It wasn’t until nearly 5am that they were finally discharged from the hospital. Axl was bone-deep tired, and his body couldn’t seem to decide if he was still hammered or starting to get hungover. He winced as the bass from the radio dug deep into his throbbing headache, so he slapped it off and both him and his brother were encased in awkward silence.

In the passenger seat, Anders shifted to try to get more comfortable, but he was coming to realize it couldn’t be done, not with the pain and the aching tug of the way his arms were positioned. Beside him, he could tell Axl was fuming, but he certainly couldn’t tell why. The kid had barely said a word to him since they got to the hospital, and it was starting to get on his nerves.

“Cheer up, would you?” Anders muttered. “At least you’re not the one casted like a mummy.”

Axl huffed loudly through his nose and shook his head side to side in frustration. “I wonder why you’re casted like a mummy? Seems to me you deserve what happened.”

“Deserve what happened?” Anders sat up straighter in his seat and looked at him in disbelief. “It wasn’t my fault, he came at me!”

“You asked for it, Anders. We were having a perfectly good night until you decided to ruin it by hitting on his wife.”

“Well it would’ve been nice of her to tell me she was married, wouldn’t it?” He felt attacked, and couldn’t believe he had to defend himself to his brother, who had seen the entire thing happen. Yes, he may have been pissed drunk and a few lines deep, but it certainly wasn’t his fault. “I backed off as soon as I saw the ring.”

Axl took a corner a little too fast, and Anders slipped in his seat to fall against the door. He was just righting himself with a wince, when Axl said, “You backed off because you saw her husband across the bar, not because you suddenly developed morals.”

“Now that’s not true and you know that,” Anders said darkly. “You saw what happened, Axl. I’m not a total asshole.”

The car jerked to a stop against the curve, and Axl stared straight out the window. “Whatever makes you happy at night, Anders. We’re here, you can get out.”

Anders cleared his throat, feeling something akin to humiliation churching deep inside his chest, because his brother somehow expected him to open the door with his arms casted to his chest. “A little help here?”

Swearing, Axl nearly stomped around the car. He swung open the car but stared up the street, refusing to make eye contact.

“I can’t quite get out yet,” He mumbled, still belted into the car by the seatbelt.

Axl leaned over him and roughly unbuckled it, catching Anders’ elbow in the process. The blond hissed as it jerked his whole arm, sending spikes of pain through his fractured bones and inflamed muscles. Slowly, he climbed out of the car, and just as he cleared the doorway, Axl slammed it shut and brushed passed him to get back in the drivers seat.

Tires squealing, Axl slammed on the gas and left his bewildered brother behind in a wispy cloud of burnt rubber. He held the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip and breathed heavily through his nose, trying to regain what little left of his composure he had. Axl knew his behavior was a little childish, but he was cranky from little sleep and his body fighting the state of being plastered and the effects of a ruthless, premature hangover.

Knowing he would probably feel a little regretful of his actions once he was sober, Axl just continued to drive and figured he would call the prick to apologize in the morning.

Back on the doorstep, Anders watched his little brother drive off, a little baffled that Axl had managed to forget he would need help getting inside, after having just had to help him out of the car minutes ago. He stared at the entrance to his flat for a moment, almost as if he was hoping the thing would open on its own, but it remained plainly latched and unmoving. Looking up and down the street, the night was quiet and still, and it would likely remain that way for another couple hours until well after dawn. It was a weekend, so he wouldn’t even be able to get help from the early morning commuters.

A brief thought came to him where he could use his phone, but he quickly remembered that Axl had his jeans, and his phone and wallet were in the back pocket. Not only that, but they wouldn’t be any use to him anyway, because he couldn’t use his hands if his life depended on it.

Feeling the most helpless he’d ever in a long time, Anders slouched back into the brick wall and swore. With another glance down the road, he almost prayed for Axl’s car to come revving back, as if he’d just remembered his brother would need the help, but the street remained empty and silent.

Thankfully, he only had to wait a half hour before one of his neighbors exited the glass entryway. Even luckier, it was one of the few neighbors that didn’t hate him, and so, seeing his predicament, graciously keyed him into his flat.

With an abundance of thanks, Anders entered the completely still and dark room, save for the soft glow and bubbling of his fish tank. Nudging the door shut with his hip, he realized he couldn’t even lift his arms up enough to turn on the light switch or even pick up the remote for the telly, which sat high up on top of the monitor. Even more complicated would be digging out the vodka from the bottom of the freezer, so in the end, he collapsed back into the couch cushions and tried to clear his mind from the loneliness that was slowly impinging (and just how badly he wanted a few more shots to forget that). Just as his eyes began to slide shut in a daze, a pang of alarm hit him when his bladder reminded him how full it was from the intravenous fluids.

Even worse, he realized he wouldn’t be able to feed his fish in the morning.


	4. C is for Casted (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Warnings:** Some very mild descriptions of bodily functions. If that squirks you, this chapter may not be for you. Also some swearing. The Johnsons like to swear when they're upset.

_Saturday, 6pm_

Michele was entirely grateful for having the next few nights off from work, and for that reason, she had stayed in her black leggings and oversized shirt the entire day. After being released from her shift at 8am, she had only managed a few hours of sleep, and spent the rest of her day at Mike’s, tidying up the downstairs, dusting off some of the liquor bottles, and then finally relaxing in one of the high chairs at the bar. 

Next to her, both Axl and Ty sat slouched in their seats. The older brother was nearly sulking as he checked his phone every few minutes for any response from Dawn, and nursed his warm beer.

“Rough night?” Mike asked as he cracked open a beer for her. Sliding it to her across the bar, he watched her carefully, noting the fatigue lining her face.

“You could say that,” she said after taking a large sip. “Cleaning up after our town’s finest drunks is not my idea of a good night. And your brother certainly didn’t help any.”

Mike tilted his head. “Axl?”

“What? Why do you always think it’s about me?” Axl protested loudly.

“Well, you went out last night, did you not?”

Michele shook her head in response to Mike’s earlier question. “No. The midget.”

“Anders was in the hospital?” Ty pushed aside his phone and looked at her in concern.

“What’d he do this time?” Cracking open a beer for himself, Mike scoffed indifferently. The attitude towards his younger brother was expected given their history, but his response still seemed a bit severe to those listening.

Ty, the most sensitive of the brothers, urged her on. “Is he okay?”

“He’ll be fine, eventually. A bit beat up, but still managed to be as irritating as usual. I’m assuming he was fine today, Axl?”

Axl frowned a little bit and shifted in his seat. Looking down at the bar top, he took a long sip of his beer, and said under his breath, “I dunno. Didn’t talk to him today.”

“You knew about this?” Mike asked, confused.

“Well how was he last night after you left?” Michele continued, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“I don’t know,” Axl said. The truth would have come out eventually, and although he did feel slightly bad about abandoning his brother, he hated the scrutiny of his family. “I dropped him off and left.”

“You what? Is anyone there with him now?”

Axl sighed loudly. “I don’t know! I dropped him off and left, alright? He’s fine, he can look out for himself.”

“You left him alone?” Michele sputtered, looking at him in bewilderment. “He was supposed to have supervision after those narcotics, dimwit, especially with everything that was already in his system and the concussion. He can’t do anything for himself with how he’s casted, besides the fact he could have stopped breathing!”

“Hold on a minute,” Mike said gruffly, waving a hand to stop their conversation. “What’s going on? What happened?”

“He broke nearly every bone in his arms and dislocated his shoulder,” Michele said matter-of-factly, and tossed a glare at Axl. “He’s completely immobile, won’t be able to take care of himself properly for weeks. The doctor released him this morning under the instructions that he’d have _someone taking care of him at home_.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Mike swore.

“So who’s with him then? You just _left_ him, Axl?” Ty was getting more worked up by the minute, and the room chilled by a few degrees.

Axl slammed down his beer and scrubbed his eyes with his hand. “Alright, alright already! How was I supposed to know? The prick was getting on my nerves, he ruined our night out.”

“ _He ruined your night out_?” The eldest brother’s his voice dropped low. Anger filled him then, because although he didn’t always get along with Anders, he’d never intentionally hurt or neglect _any_ member of his family. “You abandoned your brother in his condition because he _ruined your night_?”

Axl winced. He knew last night had been a mistake - and his actions were mostly caused from the alcohol - but hearing his brothers condemn him for it only made the guilt come on faster.

“You’re so fucking selfish,” Ty said.

“Where did you drop him off, then? His flat?” Mike asked.

“Yeah.”

Mike slung on his coat, fishing the keys out of his pocket, and followed Ty who had already started walking towards the door. Just as he got to the exit, he pointed threateningly at his youngest brother. “You. Back seat, and not another word.”

Michele took another chug of her beer, tossed a glare to the youngest, and then quickly followed. “My car’s out front. We can take it.”

____________________

Anders’ apartment was dark and unusually cold when they arrived. The curtains were still drawn tight, blocking out the setting sun, and the only noise they heard was from the soft bubbling of the fish tank. Ty hit the lights, and when they walked into the open living area, they could see just how much of a mess had been made. It looked as if the place had been ransacked. Side tables had been knocked astray, and Mike suddenly caught Ty by his wrist as he was about to walk into a pile of broken glass.

“What the -?” Ty swore, taking in the state of his brother’s flat. Beside him, Axl silently surveyed the scene, a knot of unease coiling in his belly.

Something was not right.

In the kitchen, the freezer drawer was wide open, pouring out clouds of icy air. On the floor, two ice packs had thawed and warmed, and sat forgotten, untouched. Mike side-stepped the glass and an overturned lamp, and shut the freezer.

“Anders?” Ty called out, while Michele immediately went to check the bedroom. “Anders, you here?”

The couch cushions were askew, a maroon throw tousled in a heap on the floor. As he looked closer, he could see a small stain at the center of the couch, as if a puddle of liquid had been spilt –

Whirling, Ty’s icy gaze pierced Axl. “I swear, if anything’s happened to him –”

“Guys. Found him,” Michele’s carefully-set voice echoed from the bathroom, and the brothers quickly moved to meet her. Just as they entered, they could hear Anders, weak and stuttering.

“Fuuuck… wha you..d-doing…. he-re?”

The sight that greeted them was just about as horrific a scene that Ty had seen in ages, especially considering the small body huddled in the corner of the tub – trembling and blue at the lips – was his brother.

____________________ 

_Earlier_

Anders had woken slowly from his drugged sleep, feeling very cotton-mouthed and disorientated. His awareness quickly caught up to him, though, as the throbbing in his arms made itself blatantly known, and when he shifted from the discomfort of it, he felt the crotch of his pants clinging to his skin, the material wet and cold. Mind still muddled from the alcohol and coke earlier that night, and then the added narcotics and muscle relaxers, it took a few moments for the realization to set in that he had actually _pissed himself_ , and the next thing he knew he was stumbling to the bathroom, nearly tripping over the blanket, and only peripherally hearing the lamp crash to the ground.

Nearly hyperventilating, he was hit with a sudden head rush, and he crashed into the bathroom doorjamb, jarring his right arm. The movement sent black spots soaring across his vision, and he cried out, but kept stumbling forward.

The bathtub handle was too high. He stared at it desperately, wishing the thing would just magically lower itself so he could reach, but the longer he stood there, the more his pants chaffed his skin and the more he could _smell it_. Desperately now, he tried to raise his arms to turn on the water, but agony overtook him, waves of it piercing bone-deep, as if his muscles were literally tearing in two.

When the lightheaded passed and he stopped hearing his heartbeat in his ears, he opened his eyes to see he had bent in half at the waist and was whimpering, tears dripping reflexively down his cheeks.

Swallowing a rush of nausea, he tried one last time to turn on the faucet. Leaning over slightly, he used his chin to push the handle all the way up. A small edge of the metal bit into his skin, piercing it, but he didn’t feel it over the rush of triumph as the shower head began to pour out water.

The desperation to get clean succeeded any thought about getting undressed or even the consideration of his slings and soft casts. Even though he was alone, Anders was painfully mortified and ashamed of not just his pants, but also what had taken place last night. It was no wonder Axl had driven away.

The scrape on his chin stung underneath the spray, but the hot water felt heavenly. Not only did it ease some of his aching and tense muscles, but it quickly disguised the revolting mess he’d made.

 _Disgusting_ , he thought bitterly. _You’re a real piece of work, Anders_.

As the silent and lonely minutes passed, he felt his body begin to crumble in on itself in pure exhaustion. He’d gotten little sleep, and the sleep he did get had been plagued by nightmares of torture and then being left abandoned, alone and forgotten, and left to suffer a fate worse than death.

Unbeknownst to him, the hot spray of the water had begun to dilate his blood vessels. His system, already in a state of shock from the trauma, drugs, and dehydration, began to shut down in a poor attempt to preserve itself. Just as he took in a deep breath of hot steam, dark spots sparkled across his vision. Lips suddenly tingling, he completely lost his hearing, the spray against the bathtub now sounding like rain drops very far away. A heaviness pulled deep in his chest, like a vortex had been opened and his heart was _pounding_ and he was _swimming_ in a strange sort of tunnel vision.

Blood pressure nose-diving, Anders felt his knees buckle, and he dropped like a sack of bricks to the hard tile. He didn’t even have time to panic before his head crashed against the tub with a resounding _crack_.

Eventually, the hot water raining down on him became warm, and then warm turned cold and icy. Time passed in minutes and then hours, and his unconscious body broke out in huge, trembling jerks.

Wet lashes blinked open, and his lips parted in a soft gasp. He’d never felt so cold in his life. Still lying backwards in the tub, he tried half-heartedly to get out, but in panic, realized he was literally trapped in his own bathtub. With his broken clavicle and painful, swollen muscles, he couldn’t leverage himself forwards without tightening up, which sent a terrible domino effect of pain from his chest all the way into his shoulders and arms. Legs thrown haphazardly in front of him, each time he tried to get his feet under him, they slipped on the wet and residually soapy tile.

Now stuck in the freezing water, his entire body was shaking in huge, jerking movements, which only intensified the agony in his arms and shoulders.

He lost track of time. Stuck in his own personal hell, he had just started to go numb when he heard the noise. Weakly, he tried turning his head, and it lolled to come to rest on his shoulder.

“Guys. Found him.”

The fuzzy figure standing in the doorway slowly morphed into one he recognized, but he had to squint to make sure it was truly her.. because why on earth would _Michele_ be _here_?

“Fuuuck…” A jolt of pain ran through his shoulder from a particularly hard shiver. Blinking, his mind tried to play catch-up between the pain and person who was suddenly in the room. He could barely make out around his numb lips, “wha you..d-doing…. he-re?”

“ _Anders_ ,” someone gasped.

One figure morphed into four, but he couldn’t make out who the others were. All that mattered was that _someone_ was here, and they could _help_. Forcing his mouth to work around frozen lips, he slurred, “Ttturn off… I c-can’t… Fuck. The waater… I _cccan’t_.”

____________________

Michele was the first to react, the nurse in her quickly pulling her out of shock, and she rushed forward to shut off the faucet, her eyes growing impossibly wide at the freezing temperature of the water.

Anders was curled at the far end, submerged in an inch of ice water as the rest poured down from the faucet onto his neck and torso; the pair of scrubs he’d borrowed from the hospital were soaked and so were his soft casts and slings. Slouched backwards against the tub, it was obvious he couldn’t leverage himself forwards to turn off the faucet. His skin had lost its color as blood abandoned his periphery limbs and pooled in the core of his body, an instinctive and physiological response at keeping his internal organs warm. Lips and the skin around it cyanotic, his body shook so intensely that the bathwater waved and splashed against the edges. In stark contrast to his pallid skin, blood ran in rivulets from a cut at his temple until where it mixed with the water from the shower at his collarbone; there, it turned pink in color and swirled down to the bath drain.

He was lucky he didn’t drown.

“Jesus. Mike, towels!” She yelled at him, pulling him from his shocked trance. The small body below her was at the very least mildly hypothermia, possibly moderately, depending on how long he’d been submerged. She needed to get him out, _and fast_ , to get him diagnosed and treated. “Ty, help me get him out of the water!”

“Stop,” Anders’ words were halted around chattering teeth. Tense muscles and shivers constricted his chest, limiting the amount of air he could choke in, and the effort to speak looked almost impossible. “No, no-o, no… Don’t… tttouch me.”

But Michele had no patience for his protests. “Shut up, Anders. Ty, can you get around his waist? I’ll lift his legs. Careful of his arms, we need to be gentle. Don’t fight us, Anders, it will only hurt worse.” 

Despite their careful transfer, Anders let out a pained, guttural cry when they deposited him on the bathroom floor. Ty knelt behind him, supporting his back against his chest. They both felt his body tense, and she knew as the muscles seized, they were only pulling and catching harder against his broken bones.

Wincing in sympathy, she said, “Stay there, Ty. Keep him upright.”

“Fu-uck,” Anders moaned. Shivering harder in what could only be added shock, he could barely catch his breath, and the quick transfer had his head spinning and pounding. Something even colder than the water he’d been in was pressed broadly against the back, drawing from him an involuntary whine. “ _Cccold_.”

Mike rushed back into the bathroom with an armful of towels, and she grabbed them, passing one off to Ty. He wrapped it around his older brother’s back, and then went back to holding him upright as the others worked quickly to get him dry.

“Relax against me, Anders. You’re fine, we have you now,” Ty’s voice was right next to his ear, soothing, but his brother was trying to pull away from him in an uncoordinated struggle. “Stay with me. Shit, he’s shaking bad.” 

Mistaking Anders’ struggles as cold-induced confusion, Michele continued drying Anders off until her hand hit the arm that was wrapped around his waist. Suddenly clicking as she put two and two together, she cursed. “Ty, off of him – get out! You’re freezing!”

Ty tensed, paling noticeably even with his already-chalky colored skin. Looking despondent for what he’d unconsciously forgotten, he switched positions with Mike, and went to leave.

Not taking her eyes off of Anders as she was pulling off his scrub pants and briefs, Michele knew she had to keep the other brother calm and distracted. “I need you to set up his bed. Make sure there are a bunch of blankets and extra pillows. And find some sweats for him, too.”

Quickly and clinically, Michele dried off Anders’ groin and legs, and swathed his lower half in towels. Moving up to his torso, she unbuckled both slings and tossed the wet fabric onto the sink, to be taken care of later. The soaked soft casts would have to be dealt with, too, but she could do that once he was dry and not so cold.

With Mike’s help, they eased off the scrub top they’d put him in at the hospital, and thankfully, Anders was too dazed to feel the pull in his muscles. With the last towel, Michele dried his curly hair, and patted his face, carefully avoiding the cut at his temple and pretending not to notice his tear tracks.

Between the two of them, they managed to carry him to the bedroom despite his violent shivers and gently placed him in the middle of the bed. Being supported upright in their arms, Anders – their cocky, carefree Anders – had been reduced to a weak and whimpering mess. Another shiver wracked his body, drawing a cry from his parted, colorless lips.

“Fuck. We need to get his temperature up,” Michele cursed. “He’s going to damage his arms even further if he doesn’t stop this shivering.”

Olaf tore off his shirt without any hesitation and crawled up to sit against the mound of pillows Ty had gathered at the headboard. He reached with wide, open arms for his grandchild. “Give him to me.”

His tone left no room for dispute, so Mike and Michele slid him across the sheets to rest between Olaf’s legs.

“Ah,” Anders moaned from the onslaught of pain. Through the fog, though, he felt a solid and warm presence him, and he tried to curl into it.

“Easy, Anders.”

Grabbing what spare pillows were left, Michele stuffed them under the blonde’s injured limbs, keeping them elevated to prevent any further strain.

“Don’t,” he slurred and tried to pull away. Suddenly though, in between the quaking muscle contractions and the effort to pull away from the many hands touching him, his damaged ligaments gave way, and his shoulder slid with a _pop_ from its socket. For a second, his body stilled, and bright green eyes widened in shock, and then an awful, grating scream dragged from his throat.

“Shit! Don’t move, Anders! Hold him down. Olaf, hold him down! Help me, Mike.”

“Oh fffuck,” Anders wheezed. Tears licked down the sides of his face. Heels digging into the mattress, he pushed back against the arms encircling him. “Oh… ffffuck.”

“Axl, call for an ambulance,” Michele said to the youngest brother, who had followed them to the bedroom but was standing shocked near the door. When he didn’t move, she shouted again. “Axl!”

Doe-eyed, he nodded faintly and pulled out his phone.

“Anders, _stop_!” She grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze.

All the fight left in his body left him then, and he sagged back against his grandfather. Trembling for a whole new reason, nausea overcame him, and at the same time he felt his body break out into a cold, clammy sweat. Michele was still holding his chin in place, but her figure began to get blurry and he couldn’t seem to keep her in focus. “ ‘chele?”

“Dammit. Get me those blankets, Mike,” she dropped his chin, and his head smacked against his chest, as he was suddenly unable to support it. Dimly, he felt fingers digging into the side of his neck, searching for something.

“What’s happening to him?”

The pulse beneath her fingers fluttered, terribly thready and fast. Beneath them, the small body had lost what little color had been left, and his breaths came out labored and noisy.

“There’s nothing I can do for him here,” she said. “He needs a hospital. He’s going into shock.” Her words were quick and to the point as she stuffed blankets around him, on top of the towels.

“Shock?”

“Anders, you with me?” Michele ignored him, and instead noted the blonde’s worrying, sudden state of semi-consciousness. Gaze half-lidded, he was staring at nothing and unresponsive. She tapped his cheek hard. “Anders? Shit. Axl, did you call?”

Axl opened his mouth, couldn’t seem to find his voice, then nodded dumbly.

“What’s happening?” Mike repeated, a strange desperation clipped on the edge of his voice.

“His body is shutting down,” she was clearly distracted as she now palpated the intensely swollen shoulder joint, which was, even beneath the wrappings, clearly dislocated again. Her face was pulled back in a grimace.

“What?” Axl stuttered, looking extremely pale. “But… but he’s just _cold_.”

Stilling her hands, her sharp eyes met his. “He’s likely bordering moderate hypothermia, and you certainly don’t get that way from just a few minutes in a cold shower. He was probably trapped in there for hours. He had severe trauma yesterday, and a concussion that’s likely been exacerbated from falling today, and who knows if he’s got a bleed in his head because he’s now unresponsive. On top of that his shoulder just popped out, and he’s likely disturbed his fractures. So to answer your question, Axl, no your brother is not _just cold_ , he’s in shock and there’s a very high chance something is seriously wrong, which is why he needs a hospital, and _now_.”

When she finished, she was breathing heavily through her nose, clearly upset, and uncharacteristically so, especially for someone like Anders in particular. She passed a quick hand through her bangs, and in that moment of silence, they heard sirens whirling in the distance.

“Now help me get these wet dressings off, Mike, before they get here. They’ll want to take a look. Axl, go let them in.” Calmer now and focused again, she turned back to Anders, and didn’t give the youngest brother another glance. 

“Good job, Anders,” Olaf’s voice was deep and calming as the others carefully unwrapped the soft casts. Anders’ head was resting on Olaf’s shoulder, face tilted into his neck. Gently, he brushed his hand through Anders’ damp curls, pausing to hold the boy’s cheek in his palm. He thumbed the skin over his cheekbone, and Anders pushed lightly into the warm touch. “Almost done. You’re doing excellent.”

Michele swore under her breath. Although she didn’t expect the unwrapping to go perfectly, she certainly wasn’t prepared for the state of his skin. The dressings had been most likely soaked for hours, and it had left his skin swollen and extremely sensitive. On top of that, each movement rustled his injuries, causing him to reflexively whine and tug away from her grasp.

“Shh shh,” Olaf soothed, having quickly eased in to his role as comforter. He’d had much experience with this after all, with the four adventurous and accident-prone boys growing up. “Hey, look at me. Did you hear what I said? You’re just fine.”

“Thank God,” the relief Michele felt was nearly palpable as two EMTs entered the room, followed closely by a silent Axl. The two men’s expressions turned somber at the scene in front of them as they quickly assessed their patient, and dropped the multitude of bags they had carried in.

Mike and Michele moved back from where they had been kneeling at the bed, giving them room to work, and Olaf quickly followed, placing Anders against the pillows with the help of the medics.

“Hello guys, I’m John,” the older, pepper-haired medic said. “This is my partner Brian. What’s going on today?” He made his tone light and conversational, but immediately pushed aside the blankets to reach for Anders’ carotid pulse.

“This is Anders. He was in the ER yesterday for multiple arm fractures, a dislocated shoulder, and a mild concussion,” Michele said, her voice quick and clinical. “His fractures were reduced and he was released. We found him just now in the shower, the water was freezing. His shoulder’s dislocated again, and he hit his head at some point. He was alert and oriented a minute ago, and now he’s barely responsive.”

“Anders?” Brian had removed the blankets and towels completely from his body so they could have better access, and was rubbing his bare sternum. “Anders, can you hear me?”

The blonde winced, and his broken, deformed limbs curled up to try to escape the pain.

“You said you found him collapsed? Check his c-spine while I get his blood pressure, Brian.”

Brian instantly went to palpate Anders’ neck and upper spine, then carefully felt through his hair for bumps or lacerations. “C-spine’s clear. Minor laceration at his forehead with some swelling.”

“Blood pressure’s in the drain at 78/50. Pulse 95,” John said as he released the valve from the blood pressure cuff he’d wrapped around Anders’ calf. With the stethoscope still in his ears, he moved up to his chest, attentively listening to his respirations from each lobe. After a few moments, he jerked his stethoscope from his ears. “Respirations are labored and I’m hearing some crackles, he might’ve taken in some water in the shower .. I’d like to get a core temp before we move him, his skin’s like ice.” He looked up to Michele. “How long was he submerged?”

“We don’t know. We found him like this,” Mike said, and cut a glare to where Axl stood.

John nodded grimly. His patient was pasty white, skin extremely cold to the touch, and cyanotic at his lips and nail beds. Basic medical knowledge told him it had to have been an extended period of time – possibly hours – to get this cold from shower water alone, and that fact was troubling in itself. If he was too disorientated or unable to move away, they were likely dealing with serious shock from trauma, or a worsening brain injury.

“John, his arms aren’t looking too good,” his partner said as he gently examined the swollen and bruised limbs. “Left radial pulse is a little weak, capillary refill of 4 seconds… I’m barely getting a pulse on his right. Capillary refill… 8 seconds. Both limbs are looking dusky,” Brian was slowly palpating each bony joint and distended piece of skin. “I can’t feel much passed the swelling but he definitely has displaced fractures of his right radius and ulna. Right shoulder is dislocated anteriorly.”

Slowly surfacing from the murky, dreamless state he’d settled in, Anders was beginning to become aware of a confusing sense of discomfort that seemed to be centered around his entire upper body. There was pressure pushing on him, feeling for something, and finally each persistent touch became discernible as _hands_ \- hands pressing, which he realized, actually _hurt_.

“Nnno,” he objected passed his tongue that seemed to be glued to the top of his mouth.

“Easy, buddy. Welcome back. My name is John, and this here is my partner Brian. I want you to take some nice, easy breaths for me. We’re gonna get you ready for transport, then bring you to the hospital.”

“No .. no, I .. I dddon't,” The knife-like pain was flaring through his arms and shoulders, stealing away what little breath he’d managed to wheeze in.  He tried to concentrate on the men in front of him, but could see little through his watery gaze. It only confused him more when he couldn’t find his brothers who he thought he’d heard earlier. “Mmike?”

“Right here, Anders,” he said. He reached out to take his hand, but stopped himself short of touching the swollen fingers. Pausing, he didn’t know where he could touch his brother without hurting him further, and settled instead for brushing back a few curls. “You’re going to be fine, and I’m not going anywhere. Let them take care of you.”

“Alright, let’s get his temp, then I want to wrap and run. Brian, help me roll him.” He then nodded to the others, “Watch his arms for us.”

Mike and Olaf immediately went to support him arms as they turned him on his side. John tugged down Anders’ sweatpants, and inserted the glass-tipped thermometer.

At their perplexed stares, John quickly explained. “Standard thermometer’s don’t go below 94, and temporal thermometers are highly inaccurate in hypothermia cases .. Don’t move, Anders. Just relax for me, we’re almost done. I’m taking your temperature while Brian here is going to get you some oxygen to help your breathing.”

Anders moaned, trying to shift away but found himself inexplicably locked between many sets of hands. The feeling was disorientating, like he wasn’t in control of his own body. In the forefront, all he could feel was the huge, body wracking shivers and the way they spasmed around his fractures. Then, peripherally, voices; some deep and authoritative, and others edged with panic. It only scared him further. He flinched when something was placed across his face – tubing – and pure oxygen flowed up his nose, relieving some of the strain.

“Alright, I’ve got him on 6L,” Brian said, and reached down to grab the black bag closest to him. He pulled out a paper sheet of sticky pads, and leads and wires, and stuck 3 pads to Anders’ bare chest. Connecting them to the monitor, he carefully watched the machine alarm in warning, displaying a staccato, slightly arrhythmic pulse of 105 beats per minute.

“Damn,” John said. “Brian, hand me the radio, I’ll call in his vitals. Go grab the stretcher and we can get him out of here. We can do warmed O2 and start fluids when we’re in the bus, but we may have to do intraosseous.”

Brian nodded. Their patient’s arms were useless for starting an IV, and the likihood that they’d find a vein in his foot or leg was slim, due to his hypothermia and the corresponding peripheral vasoconstriction. He tossed the radio to his partner, who was still holding Anders’ hip with one hand and the thermometer with the other. John released his hip to pick up the radio, but before calling in, glanced up to the others.

“What’s his age?”

“He’s thirty,” Mike said.

“Any allergies to drugs?”

He hesitated. “Not that I know of.”

“Penicillin,” Axl spoke up from the corner. “He’s allergic to that.”

Mike pursed his lips, almost looking a bit shocked. 

“Any other significant medical history we should know of?” He asked. 

“Just a few broken bones when he was a kid,” Mike said. “But nothing else.”

“Good,” John said, and then thumbed his radio. “Auckland City Hospital, this is Squad 82 calling in.”

The radio burst to life over faint static. “Go ahead 82.”

“We have a thirty year old male who fell in the shower and was under the cold spray for an indeterminable amount of time. Patient is semi-conscious. He was seen yesterday in the ER for multiple arm fractures and a mild concussion, but was treated and released without issues. There are now multiple deformities in his arms, and he has a dislocated right shoulder. Patient also has a head injury, but no obvious skull fracture, and c-spine is clear. He’s experiencing pain. Current vital signs are as follows: pulse 105 and slightly irregular, blood pressure 78/50, respirations 22. Breathing is labored with bilateral crackling and wheezes. Temperature is…” He pulled out the thermometer, squinting at the small numbers. “Temperature’s 90 degrees. Skin is pale and cold to the touch. Wet clothing has been removed, as have the wet dressings and soft casts. We’ve started him on O2 via nasal cannula at 6lpm.”

“Squad 82: start an IV, 500mL warm saline bolus. Get him on warmed oxygen and wrap him in warm blankets or use heat packs. Transport as soon as possible.”

“Copy that,” John tossed the radio aside and, with the others help, lowered Anders back on his back.

“Mike,” Anders’ tone was plaintive and confused, reminding the eldest brother vividly of Anders when he was a young boy, scared and wanting comfort. Mike swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, and any contempt he’d been holding against him for years was pushed aside, paternal instincts taking over. 

“Take it easy, Anders. You don’t need to do a single thing, just rest. We’re taking you to the hospital.”

“Why.. do.. Mmike, I … don’t knnow,” he breathed in heavily, trying to suck in the offered oxygen, but was beginning to feel increasingly cloudy and light headed. There were people in the room he didn’t know, touching him, and through the fog, he realized he didn’t even remember what had happened between taking a shower and waking up in his bed.

Mike went to kneel on the bed right next to Anders, and helped the other medic bundle him back up in blankets, being careful of the ECG wires and his arms, which John had bound onto temporary splints and then gently folded across his chest.

“No, nnno,” he said desperately, eyes widening at the sudden feeling of confinement.

“Anders, listen to me,” Mike leaned closer to his brother, forcing himself to speak softly. “We’re bringing you to the hospital, and I’m coming with you. Do you hear me?”

Anders’ face crumpled, and his green eyes welled with tears. “Help .. mme, Mmmike.”

Mike felt something curling deep in his stomach, something akin to panic, because Anders had never sounded this lost and desperate.

“He’s confused,” John said matter-of-factly as he packed up his remaining equipment. At the same time, his partner arrived with the stretcher. “Most likely a combination of the head injury and hypothermia. We just need to keep him calm, are you riding with us?”

“Yes,” Mike said immediately.

He turned to Michele, and before he could say anything, she said, “Don’t worry, I’ll follow in the car with everyone.” 

He nodded mutely, feeling a rush of gratefulness towards her. She smiled weakly back.

“Alright, let’s get him to the stretcher.”

The oldest medic got into position at Anders’ head, and Brian followed to get his legs. Quickly, Olaf and Mike positioned themselves along his body, as Axl watched nervously from the corner. “Nice and gentle, we’re going to just slide him over. No sudden movements, we can’t be jostling him. Ready, one… two… three…”

Gently, they slid him over onto the stretcher, and then buckled him in, careful to avoid his fractured arms. 

“Mike!” The dizzying transfer from bed to stretcher left his head spinning, and he called out to his older brother.

“I’m here, Anders,” he said and stepped around the bed to be next to him.

Brian paused as he finished the last buckle at Anders’ feet. His hand gripped the blonde’s ankle, then his leg, feeling, face concerned.

“John, he’s stopped shivering.”

John’s expression deepened with worry, and felt at Anders’ abdomen to double check. “Damn. It's likely the after drop, his temp’s still falling. We need to go!”

They quickly grabbed hold of the gurney, unlocked the brakes, and pushed. 

The living room was markedly a few degrees cooler, and Ty was pacing between the couch and fish tank. At the sound of their footsteps, his head snapped up and he rushed to meet them.

“Anders,” he said despairingly. His smaller brother was sickly white, and it scared him how he was looking blankly up at the ceiling.

“I’m going with him,” Mike stated as he followed the medics out the door. He called back over his shoulder, “take care of your other brother, will you?” 

Michele and Ty met eyes, and a moment passed between them of mutual understanding and worry.

“Do you have the keys?” He asked.

She nodded and pulled them out of her pocket, already moving to follow the others through the door.

Axl shifted on his feet where he stood by the bedroom, looking incredibly anxious and guilty. To Ty, he looked younger than ever.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and looked on the edge of tears. “I didn’t mean .. I didn’t know..”

Ty shook his head angrily. “Save it for Anders.”

____________________

Anders drifted, blinking slow and long as bright lights flashed quickly overhead. Eventually, he was brought into a large room, and felt a quick transfer from one bed to another.

“ _Anders, son, can you hear me_?”

A fuzzy face appeared leaning over him. He could hear the man’s words, but couldn’t find the energy to reply.

“ _Talk to us, Anders. Can you understand what I’m saying_?”

There was a quiet wisp of sheets, and a tug of his sweatpants, and suddenly he was bared naked in a room full of strangers. 

“.. _arms look like shit. I want a full set of x-rays on them. Chest too, STAT_ ..”

“.. _page surgery and ortho for consults_!”

“.. _can you wiggle your fingers for me, Anders_? _Anders_?”

“.. _another temp. Let’s get a Foley catheter with a temperature sensor_..”

“.. _full chem panels, CBC_..”

“Here you go, sweetheart. These will help you feel better,” a soft, motherly voice broke through the others, and then he was swathed in a pile of warmed blankets, and he _moaned_ at the heavenly feeling. 

“There, there,” she ran her fingers through his hair, soothing him in a way only a mother’s touch could. It brought a rush of tears to his eyes. “We’ll take good care of you, hon. Just relax for me. Can we get some pain meds on board? The poor boy’s in pain.”

The nasal cannula was swapped for an oxygen mask that pushed warm, humidified air over his mouth and nose, and at the same time, a heavy, numbing feeling rushed from his thigh where a femoral central line had been placed. The heavy feeling settled through his chest and head, had him sinking into the gurney, and he closed his eyes and knew no more. 

____________________

“He’s doing well, considering,” Michele stated as she poured over the paper chart from the end of his bed. “They reduced his shoulder again without any complications. The surgery for his arms went well…” She quickly read the report from the surgery, wincing a little at the details. Although she was a nurse, she absolutely hated the idea of blood and gore. “He’ll be here for awhile until the plates and external fixator heals and the risk of infection drops.”

They had all gathered in Anders' room once he’d been settled in SICU. Barely recognizable, he’d been covered from his neck to his toes in layers of warm blankets, except for his arms. Those had been swathed in thick bandages and elevated on pillows. On his right, an external fixator was screwed into his forearm; the metal rod attached to many bolts that pierced the skin, looking gruesome and painful. His face was puffy from the all the fluids they’d given him, and as his swollen eyes blinked open, he could hardly keep focus.

“Anders,” Ty breathed in relief. He placed a hand on his good shoulder, and gently squeezed. “It’s good to see you awake, bro. How are you feeling?”

Anders licked his dry lips and moaned beneath the oxygen mask. As he took stock of his body, it was a relief to find himself finally _warm_. “Uh… kinda .. floaty.”

“That’s because they’ve given you the good stuff,” Michele said, and put down his chart.

“Mmm,” He mumbled in agreement.

“There’s someone here who’d like to talk to you,” Mike said. He stepped aside, only to push someone else in his place. Axl.

“I want to apologize,” he said after a few moments of tense silence.

Anders frowned in confusion as he eyed his younger brother. He slurred out, “You don’ have to..”

“Yes, I do,” he cut him off. “I was a prick. I feel bad, Anders… Really bad. You didn’t deserve what I did to you, and I’m sorry.”

Still groggy from the anesthesia and painkillers, it took a few seconds for his words to sink in. He tugged a smile as best he could, “It’s fine.”

“No it’s not fine!” Axl burst out, “and stop saying it is.”  
  
“Axl,” Mike warned.

“I mean it. I was wrong, and you got hurt because of it. I don’t think I can ever forgive myself.”

“You..” Anders’ frown deepened, and he tried to shift in the bed to face him a little better.

“Careful! Stay still,” Ty exclaimed as Anders winced.

“No,” Anders protested. His tongue was still thick, and it was an effort to spit out each word. “No, don’t .. apologize.”

“Anders, please listen,” Axl begged. “The fight at the bar wasn’t even your fault. It was that stupid, jealous husband, and you did nothing wrong. I was upset because we had to leave and it was really late and I was tired and starting to feel hungover… And I took it out on you. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. I really am.”

Anders settled, and opened his eyes a little wider to seek out his baby brother. His vision was blurry, but he could still see the sincerity and sadness in Axl’s expression. 

“Okay,” he murmured, smiling a little as he drifted off. “Thanks.”

Mike patted Axl’s shoulder, and they settled in for what would certainly be many days at the hospital.

____________________

Anders recovered slowly, but at least he was recovering.

He was released a week after he’d been admitted, and only under the conditions that he’d have someone with him at all times. This time, it was strictly enforced by the hospital staff.

Not that the brothers needed the instruction this time.

On his first day home, everyone had followed including Michele and Dawn. His arms had been plastered in hard casts and slung close to his chest, and he was, once again, completely incapable of doing anything by himself. He quite literally needed to be spoon fed because he couldn’t do more than wiggle his fingers, and needed help bathing and dressing.

That night, he had been settled into the couch. Mike adjusted his arms onto pillows to try to get him comfortable, and then covered him in blankets. Anders still felt residually cold since the incident, and even though they’d kept the heat up both in his hospital room and at home, he still felt most comfortable under mounds of blankets. After Mike got him settled, he returned to the kitchen table. Sipping on his beer, he began pouring over Anders’ discharge papers, prescription packets, and information on specialized orthopedics and rehab centers.

The door opened, and Olaf noisily entered with a suitcase. He dumped it next to the door and then sat next to Mike, propping his bare feet up on the table.

“How’s Anders doing? I hope there’s enough food to last us until we can go shopping,” he said, eyeing the basket of fruit on the table. Olaf was never one for subtly, and he had made it quite clear he was moving in for the next few days at least.

“Dawn went shopping this morning,” Ty said from where he was standing by the counter. A stack of papers sat in front of him, and he’d been trying to help Dawn sort through them to help keep up with JPR’s clients. “And tossed out anything spoiled from this passed week. She’s making lasagna right now.” He smiled over at her as she spread layers of pasta and meat in a glass pan. She smiled back at him, tucking a piece of blonde hair behind her ear.

Olaf made a sound of approval, and snatched an apple from the fruit basket.

By the microwave, Axl removed his bag of cooked popcorn and dumped it into a plastic bowl. He made his way back to the couch, and with his free hand, picked up Anders’ legs so he could sit, and placed them back in his lap.

“Want some?” Axl asked with a gesture towards the popcorn.

“Nah,” he said. Anders was looking a little peaked, but it was most likely due to the long day they’d had in getting him discharged and settled at home. It was also time for his pain meds, and he was likely hurting.

“You have to eat if you want your pain meds,” Axl said. Leaning over, he took a few kernels and waited until Anders opened his mouth before placing them inside.

“Thanks,” he said around his full mouth. It was still incredibly difficult and humiliating being cared for like a baby, but thankfully, his brothers had yet to crack a joke or make him feel uncomfortable. It didn’t go unnoticed by him, and after many days in the hospital being completely incapacitated by his injuries, he was finally letting himself get comfortable around them.

“Thirsty?” Axl’s eyes peeled away from the television, his hand already reaching for the glass on the table. Anders nodded, and the glass was gently tipped against his lips. It was held there a few moments, letting him get his fill until he needed to catch his breath, and then taken away. A small, round pill was pressed against his lips, and he opened his mouth greedily for it, anxious to keep the pain at bay. Axl gave him a few more sips of the juice, and helped him settle again.

Slowly, the narcotic worked its way through his tense and inflamed muscles and broken bones, and Anders let himself gently fall into a healing sleep. He knew if he needed anything, or if he was woken by another nightmare, he’d have someone to wake up to, to count on.

Because even though he was broken, he would always have his brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders vasovagaled in this chapter during the shower scene. It's very common in trauma patients, and it's not fun!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	5. D is for Drugged (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note** : Okay, first of all, I’m really blown away by your kind comments. You’ll see many authors around this site saying that comments are the fuel for writing, and I can’t tell you how true that is. I’m truly thanking you guys for the extra push :)
> 
> Secondly, your prompts are wonderful and I hope you keep them coming! The next few chapters have already been outlined, but once they’re completed, I’m planning on tackling as many as I can. I haven’t forgotten any (they’re sitting at the front of my writing book waiting to be written!) – and for the Kíli/Aidan whumpers out there, you haven’t been forgotten either.
> 
> Thirdly, I’m not a Hobbit or LOTR expert. I’ve watched the movies, and that’s about it (I know, I know I’m missing out on some great literature! – It’s on my to-do list). Because of this, I’ve taken some liberties with the races and their cultures. I’ve done what I can for research, but that’s about all I can do without actually sitting down to read the books, and I hope nothing is glaringly wrong. I’ve warned you!
> 
> FOURTHLY (yes… fourthly), this is going to be another two-part. I thought I’d give you an update while I finagle the rest of it, which may take another week or so.
> 
> This one’s for Thorny. See note at the end.
> 
> **Chapter Warnings** : Nonconsensual touching.

Fíli was on watch the night it happened.

It was cold, the prevailing winds from the north wisped through the shortgrass, which sent another chill through his body. He was trembling just a bit, but the night was thankfully quiet, so he allowed himself to relax against the boulder, drawing his furs a little tighter around himself. Despite the pull of fatigue, his eyes didn’t leave the expanse of the rolling plains and woods on either side of the Great East Road, because his duty was to protect his company.

Beside him, Kíli shivered in his sleep and shifted, curling up into a smaller ball. The fire he’d stoked throughout the night was beginning to dwindle, and he knew it was becoming time to gather more brush to keep his companions warm. Fíli still had a few hours until he’d wake Nori for his watch, so getting up to gather the firewood would give him the distraction he needed from his exhaustion, but he’d also get the chance to make sure nothing lurked at the edge of their campsite.

Along the edge of the woods, but still within eyesight of the company, he had just bent down to gather more kindling, when the air became suddenly too silent. Pausing, his sharp and dilated eyes scanned the expanse of the dark forest as a trail of gooseflesh pricked up his arms.

Seeing nothing, Fíli shook his head. He righted himself and turned to head back to the campsite.

And was completely blindsided by the cold, sharp metal of a knuckle-duster as it cracked against his cheekbone.

Fíli crashed backwards, stunned from the blow that sent spots of swirling black patches and stars across his vision. _Men_ , he dimly saw through his wavering vision, huge and cloaked as they surrounded him.

He had already dropped his firewood, and with numb hands reached for his swords, but someone was suddenly behind him – long, powerful arms encircling his smaller body and forcing something across his mouth and nose.

It was a cloth, and he had just enough time to realize it was wet and smelled frighteningly pungent. Desperately, Fíli bucked against the being, shouts muffled from his attempts to get his company’s attention. His quick, stuttered breaths only quickened the process for the men, though, and he was hit with a crushing rush of dizziness. The sensation overwhelmed him; heaviness filled him from his head downwards, sucking him deep under.

He felt his swords drop from his numb hands with a muted thump. Fíli blinked one last time, and barely had the energy to swing up his hand to try for one last blow. It weakly connected with the man’s head, but it quickly fell limp, tangling in the man’s hair.

Fíli moaned, and just as the vestiges of true panic began to fill him, there was only blackness, nothing.

____________________

“Kíli, _Kíli_!”

The tone of his uncle’s voice had his eyes snapping open. He jolted upright, eyes wide but still puffy from sleep; behind Thorin’s form, the rising sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon, bathing the low clouds in a deep red.

“Your brother is missing,” Thorin said, his face tight, voice breathless - this was fear. It didn't make sense, his uncle was fearless. Kíli needed him to be fearless. “We can’t find Fíli.”

“ _What_?” Kíli felt the air rush from his lungs like he’d been punched in the gut. In horror, he hurriedly looked around to confirm what his uncle had said, but the familiar blond dwarf was nowhere, and the others were hastily stuffing their bedding and supplies into their packs.

“He never woke Nori for his watch. Hurry, Kíli, gather your things!”

Heart thudding like the sprinting hooves of a pony, he jumped from his blankets and threw his belongings into his bag. Kíli’s fingers were trembling hard as his mind raced and tried to catch up with what was happening.

“Nori and Dori already checked the perimeter,” Thorin continued while he tossed water onto the glowing embers of their fire pit. “There’s no sign of him.”

“No tracks?” He asked wildly, throwing his haphazardly stuffed pack across his shoulder, and his quiver across the other. His brother would have had to leave tracks if he’d left somewhere, or at the very least, if there was an enemy near by they would…

Kíli didn’t want to think about that.

Thorin was just shaking his head when a shout attracted their attention; Dwalin and Bofur came running from the woods, and Kíli’s heart dropped at what he saw in the warrior’s grasp.

Fíli’s swords.

“No sign of him, but we found these aways in, next to a pile of kindling,” Dwalin said. “He must’ve been gathering wood. There was blood on the leaves, and there were signs of a struggle.”

Thorin grabbed the swords and inspected them in his hands. The exquisite blades were clean – Fíli had not fought back.

“There are tracks heading south. Five sets of them, boot prints larger than our own, the size of man.”

“And we found these,” Bofur said, and held out his hands. In one, a scarlet piece of cloth, still damp from some sort of liquid. In his other, a small clump of long, black hair, and braided within it, strands of gold.

Thorin’s eyes widened as he eyed the items, and Balin made a small sound under his breath, “Mahal, it can’t be.”

“What?” Kíli asked desperately. “Who is it?”

“Haradwaith,” Thorin said.

Dori gasped, shaking his head in disbelief. “Haradwaith? But what are they doing this far north? And what would they want with Fíli?”

Óin had taken the scarlet cloth of Bofur, and sniffed it before tossing it to the ground with a curse. “They’ve given him sedatives, most likely a mixture of Valerian root and others herbs I’ve never smelt before. Whatever the reason they’ve taken him, they’ll be traveling by foot with an unconscious dwarf. That’s no small feat, and if we’re quick, we can reach them by nightfall.”

Thorin’s face was pale, and his voice was low, infuriated. “Show me the tracks.”

____________________

“ _You’ve damaged him_!” A gruff voice boomed above him.

“ _Not by much, not enough to spoil his looks_.”

Fíli blinked slow and heavy.

Head pounding and sore beyond belief, he felt like he’d been crushed by a mountain troll of enormous proportions, and yet he didn’t know why. Above him, slivers of light pierced through the canopy of the trees at a fast pace.

The voices around him eventually faded, and he lost consciousness again before he could even process it was daylight, and way before he could think to question what had happened to his kin and company.

It was the noise that trickled in through his senses that awakened him next. Rustling leaves, a harsh murmur of voices he didn’t recognize, and the sound of someone sharpening a blade. Everything seemed a little bit clearer and more detailed this time around, so the remnants of whatever he’d been drugged with must have started the process of passing through his system.

Fíli was cold, though, worse than cold. As his mind continued to slowly wake, he could feel himself lying limp and horizontal, the sharp prick of rocks digging into his skin. Trying to keep his breath from shuddering in shock, he realized he’d been stripped down to nothing but his smallclothes. He moved his fingers ever so slightly to feel at his sides – he’d also been stripped of his weapons.

“I’ve never seen a golden dwarf before.”

There was a shadowed presence of someone suddenly over him, but he kept his breathing slow and even. The memory of the cloaked figures in the woods slowly came back to him then, and his capture. In his drugged state, if there were any chance of escaping, it would have to be a surprise.

Muffled voices floated over him, and it was clear they hadn’t realized he was conscious yet. A hand passed through his hair, roughly ripping out his braids and beads, and the touch started him. His bared chest twitched just the slightest, but that was all it took. The hand stilled against his head.

“I think the pretty lad’s awake. Give me a moment with him to give him our finest welcoming, would you?”

Caught in his act of feigning sleep, Fíli opened his eyes just the slightest. His head was thick, and he was barely able to see through his blurry vision; a looming figure was leaning directly over him, lips parted in a grin to reveal black, rotting teeth.

Reflexively, he swung, but the drugs weakened him and the man easily caught his fist. He laughed loudly, stale breath nearly gagging him.

“Mmm,” the man moaned, using the fat fingers of his other hand to twirl Fíli’s golden hair. “You’re beautiful when you squirm.”

Snarling, Fíli’s fingers grasped a rock from the dirt, and with the hand not trapped, he swung again, catching the man just above his eye. Though he was weak, it was still a stunning blow and Fíli was able to crawl to his knees, looking through the overwhelming dizziness for any sort of weapon.

He was at the back of a shallow cave. At the mouth of it, and silhouetted by a high sun, the other cloaked men had turned during the sound of commotion. Fíli could just make out the smirks on their faces.

“Having trouble controlling your dwarf, Bór?” One laughed.

The man, Bór, growled, and literally body slammed Fíli back to the ground. It sent the breath whooshing from his lungs as his head bounced against the rocky earth.

“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” Bór was breathless and straddling him now. With one hand he pinned Fíli’s wrists above his head, and then started nuzzling the soft skin between his neck and jaw.

The breath caught in Fíli’s throat, his feeble movements stilling in shock. Bare skin. Bór was wetly mouthing the gentle curve at his bared jawline.

He’d been shaved.

A weak sort of mewl tore from his lips at the shock of the defilement, and then he was bucking, roaring, and infuriated. “I’ll kill you! I’ll tear the skin right from your bones, I swear to Aulë!”

“Shh, shh, now, none of that, my boy,” Bór held him down easily, and he chuckled at the dwarf’s slurred curses. The blond was still deep within the confines of the drugs, and would continue to be until long after sunset.

The harder Fíli fought, the harder Bór felt himself become in his breeches. He thrusted tantalizingly into the much smaller dwarf’s thigh.

“My, you are a sight to behold. They say a dwarf as fair as you is worth rubies, gold at the auctions,” he slipped his free hand down the expanse of Fíli’s heaving chest, then further to roughly fondle his limp groin. Licking a wet trail to his ear, he sucked at the lobe, before whispering, “But I’m thinking of keeping you all to myself.”

Bór’s huge hand moved even further downward, sliding to hold the firm globe of his buttocks. Large fingers dragged into the crevice, pushing against him but not able to penetrate passed his smallclothes, alluding of what was to come. He pulled back to look his captive directly in the eyes, lust glossing over his gaze. The moment he went to lean in for his lips, though, Fíli hucked up saliva and mucus from the back of his throat and spit, the wad hitting its mark directly into Bór’s eye.

The man jerked back with a gasp, wiping his eye as his expression darkened, and enraged, he pulled back his closed fist.

“Bór!” Many footsteps approached, and the two of them turned their heads to see.

Four cloaked men walked over, one holding a bowl of glistening oil and a shaving knife, and the other, a large waterskin.

“Enough play,” one said. “It’s time to prepare for tonight. This’ll keep him subdued until long after he’s been purchased.”

“No.. no!” Fíli sucked in a shaking breath of panic, and fought with every last bit of strength he had left. Hands twice the size of his held him though, at his wrists and legs and hips and chest, and another set forced open his jaw. Something rancid and thick was forced down his throat, and he fought it, tossing his head back and forth until they snapped his jaw shut and pinched his nose. Fíli held his breath as long as he could, turning a deep shade of red, and finally was forced to swallow. Tears leaked from his eyes, knowing he’d just lost his last chance to escape. For a very long moment, there was no sound except the stuttered heaves of his breaths.

Then, Bór’s deep voice sounded far away. Angry. “Give him all of it. Not a muscle of his moves until he’s been sold.”

More gunk slid down his throat, and he was powerless to stop it. Vision blackening at the edges, he lost all control as his muscles simply went limp, a paralyzing shock choking him all at once, and then everything simply faded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Thorny, who prompted a drugged, captured, and whumped Fíli. Part 2 will be up soon!


	6. D is for Drugged (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the result of being completely rewritten 3-4 times, and I'm still not happy with it. Thankfully Thorny and Mee gave me a gentle nudge to get my ass into gear and finish this thing. As TH said, sometimes you just gotta say "fuck it" and publish!
> 
>  **FiliKiliThorinForever, mjeanuniverse, Mee, ThornyHedge, fandom_ninja, Silva_13, and Chris** thank you all for commenting - my muse thanks you guys for the extra inspiration!
> 
>  **Khuzdul:**  
>  _Inùdoy_ \- son  
>  _Nadad_ \- brother  
>  _Kidhuzel_ \- the gold of gold (the most golden)

They found the group held up in a cave, on a southern road heading towards Gondor.

Looking back, Kíli could hardly remember what he’d felt the moment he saw his brother, his sweet, loyal, mighty brother, limp and unresponsive as men loomed over him, touching his unclothed body with their fat, greasy hands.

Those moments passed in a blur. Roars of rage, battle cries from his company echoed in the cave, nearly deafening them all. Swords and axes drawn, they charged, with only one destination in mind.

In their blind stupidity, the men had left their weapons at the mouth of the cave as they tended to their captured dwarf, and though as they stood towering over the charging dwarves, they never stood a chance.

“See to the outside perimeter, make sure there’s none hiding,” Thorin demanded, his eyes wild as he scanned the small cave to make sure they had felled all the enemies. Satisfied, he turned to the others, and spat, “then burn the bodies.”

“Fíli!” Kíli cried and dropped to his knees beside him. A strange, keening moan left his throat at the sight of what had been done to his brother.

“Kíli, don’t touch him. Óin?” Thorin collapsed opposite of Kíli, stunned as he dropped his bloody sword. With a delicacy that he hardly ever bared, he placed a hand on his nephew’s oil slicked shoulder. “Fíli, _inùdoy_ , can you hear me?”

The men had shaved every inch of his body, the only hair remaining the golden tresses atop his head. Weaved within the braiding were delicate golden threads. He’d been oiled, a sight that softened his muscular build, and along his cheekbones and swirling up and around his eyes, they’d begun to paint intricate designs in gold paint.

The sight was foreign. Shaved and beardless, his older brother looked small, far younger than himself, and it made Kíli nauseous.

“ _Nadad_ , please, wake up,” Kíli pleaded despite his brother’s unconsciousness. His voice shook, and tears balanced at the fine edge of his lower lids. He reached out with the pad of his thumb, wiping away the thick black liquid that bubbled and dribbled in lines down Fíli’s cheeks. “Uncle, what have they done to him?”

“Óin?” Thorin asked again.

The healer had dropped to Fíli’s head. However, he didn’t respond, and instead, concentrated as he scooped up some of the same liquid from Fíli’s lips. Without hesitation, he sniffed it, and then felt his eyes widening in alarm.

“Poppy seed and... valerian? Mahal, hurry, gather some elderberry or lobelia, whichever you find first. Bring me some water, then get some warmed over a fire, now!” Óin tossed aside his ear trumpet; he didn’t have the extra hand to waste holding it to his ear at the others questioning. Instead, he lifted an empty water skin from where it had been abandoned at Fíli’s side. At the mouth of it, he could see and smell the same foul liquid that the young dwarf had been forced to ingest. “All of it? Surely they did not give him all of it?” He whispered to himself in dismay. However, the state of Fíli’s breathing and unresponsiveness told him otherwise.

A trembling hand holding a tin of water suddenly shoved itself in front of his vision; he met Ori’s wide eyes, and nodded distractedly in thanks.

Óin dampened a spare handkerchief with the water. The old healer skillfully reached within Fíli’s parted lips and wiped up as much of the liquid as he could from the back of Fíli’s tongue and the insides of his mouth. Within moments, the fabric had turned black, but the dwarf’s breathing eased some and sounded less gurgley.

“That’s a good laddie,” Óin murmured. Folding it over a few times, he used it to wipe the blank gunk from the sides of his face, and then tossed aside the now filthy rag.

Kíli had just grabbed his brother’s limp hand and was brushing back sweaty hair from his face when he heard shouts. Noticeably through the noise, he could hear Dwalin, enraged, and then Bifur’s manic grunts. The need to check on the rest of his Company was overwhelming, but so was staying at his brother’s side, and he met Thorin’s gaze with alarm.

“All is fine!” Bofur yelled to them from outside the cave. “We found another. Dwalin is tending to him now.”

Thorin growled deep in his throat, distinctly reminding the young prince of a riled mama bear. “Stay with your brother, let him sense your presence. I’ll be back in a moment.” His eyes had darkened, pulled in a fury that scared even Kíli. He pushed up from the ground, grabbed his sword that was still shining in crimson, and his footsteps thudded away.

At the same time, Bilbo came running into the cave, his tiny hands full of lavender colored flowers and green stems. Óin immediately breathed out a sigh of relief and took the herbs, his hands flying as he went to work preparing a tincture.

“Has he wakened?” Bilbo asked hesitantly.

Kíli shook his head, not daring the move his gaze or his hold from his brother.

“Hold his head upright, will you?” Óin said just as he finished fixing the mixture. Within his hands was a tin cup of warm water and crushed lobelia leaves, smelling just as foul as the other stuff Fíli had been forced to swallow.

The young dwarf quickly cupped the back of the blonde’s head and settled it atop his thighs. With trembling, hesitant hands, he then used one to hold Fíli’s forehead, and the other to cup the side of his head. The healer wasted no time in pouring a small amount of the tincture into Fíli’s mouth; then, gently supporting his jaw, he massaged his throat, not stopping until he saw Fíli’s tongue move briefly and his throat contract as he swallowed the mixture.

“Good job, laddie. A little more,” Óin praised, and continued until the entire cup had been downed. Almost immediately after, the unconscious dwarf’s body jerked and then heaved, making small, pitiful gagging noises. “To his side, Kíli! Help me.”

No sooner as they got him on his side, Fíli reflexively curled up and started vomiting. The pain briefly brought him to consciousness, and it was so severe that he was choking on the bile and the poison he'd been forced to swallow; so endless that he thought he was going to pass out from his inability to breathe when it all suddenly stopped. Violently trembling and heart racing, Fíli could only gasp for air in between weak coughs.

“What’s wrong with him?” Kíli asked desperately. “Is this supposed to happen?”

“It’s Lobelia,” Bilbo answered for Óin, because his ear trumpet had been tossed aside and he was oblivious as he tended only to Fíli. “It induces vomiting. Anything poisonous he’s swallowed will hopefully be expelled before it does any damage.”

Kíli felt helpless as he watched his brother heave in between the guttural noises. "Poppy seed.. It's poisonous?"

"In large doses, yes," Bilbo answered, having had much experience with gardening and his herbs. "Especially mixed with other herbs with similar properties."

The archer winced when his brother cried out. With a quiet murmur, he tried to calm him, but Fíli didn’t seem to be aware of any of them. “Fíli, we’re here, nadad. We found you, you're just fine.”

Fíli’s eyes blinked open. They were watery and bloodshot from the intense retching, and maybe something more. As Kíli leaned closer, though, his brother’s pupils constricted, and he jerked back with a tiny cry.

“Fíli, it’s me. It’s me, Kíli,” he said, but backed away. Green eyes stared at him as though he didn’t know who he was. “Do you not see me? Do you not know who I am?”

Fíli’s gaze was huge but unseeing. It stared right through Kíli, blank and unknowing.

And then he swung.

The hit barely glanced off Kíli’s chin, but its intent was there. The younger dwarf looked down in shock, and held his jaw as if he’d been burned.

“Easy, lad!” Óin said, pulling Fíli onto his back, restraining his wrists. Fíli moaned despairingly, deliriously. “Durin's beard, Fíli, hold still. You’re with us now. It’s Óin, and right here is Kíli; you’re safe, you’re okay, laddie.”

“Kíli!” A torn cry from Fíli’s lips. “Kíli!”

That’s all it took for Kíli to snap from his trance, and he dove to his brother’s side. “I’m here, I’m here.”

“Kíli! Help .. help.”

“No one will hurt you any longer, my brother. Look at me, look at me.”

“Don’t touch me.. No-o,” the blonde prince’s slurred voice broke, and he weakly tried to pull out of the healer’s grasp. “Don’t. Don’.”

Kíli felt his throat tightening. “Please, Fíli, look here. Look at me.” Ever so gently, he took Fíli’s head within his hands and turned him to look directly in his eyes. “Do you see me, brother? It’s Kíli, your Kíli.”

A pause. “Kee?”

A small smile tugged at Kíli’s lips. “That’s right, Fee. I’m here now.”

“Kee, what.. I don’t, I don’t under.. stand,” he took in a shaking breath and then exhaled, face crumbling in confusion and something else Kíli couldn’t identify. “They.. they..”

“They’re gone, _nadad_. They’re dead, and you are safe with me, I promise you,” Kíli said soothingly and brushed the pad of his thumb from his brother’s forehead to just passed his temple.

“But..”

“Óin?” Thorin’s voice echoed through the small cave as he approached them, slightly out of breath. “Óin, how is my nephew?”

Óin sensed his presence, and held up his ear trumpet just as Thorin knelt down beside them, taking in Fíli’s return to consciousness with slight relief.

“I believe he’s expelled most of the toxins,” Óin said. “But he’s not safe enough to move. The cave will give us shelter while we treat him until he’s more stable.”

“How long?”

Kíli felt something deep within his belly curl; his brother's health should have surpassed any of his uncle's hunger to make it to Erebor before Durin's day. “As long as necessary.”

Thorin’s expression softened some. “You misunderstand me, Kíli,” and he turned back to Óin. “How long until we can expect him to be feeling well? I can send the others to begin foraging for food; there was a patch of gooseberries a ways back. We may have little time to spare, but we can be swift once Fili is well again.”

“At least a day. Perhaps two or more. The men gave him a strong poison; it’s not easy to recover from such a shock,” the old healer said.

“The men,” Bilbo said quietly from where he was standing off to the side. “Why did they take Fíli?”

Thorin frowned, but it was Dwalin who answered from the mouth of the cave. He was wiping blood off his hands, the tattoos on his arms sweaty and rippling. The warrior’s voice was wrought with emotion, more so than Bilbo had ever heard from him. “They are slave traders for the Haradrim. Fíli was worth much more to them because of his golden hair and fair skin. They had been stalking us for days, waiting for him to be alone, and when Fíli was on watch they took their chance.”

“And he told you this?” Kíli asked, gesturing to where they’d found the man outside.

Dwalin nodded.

Eyes flared in a rage he’d never felt before in his life, Kíli went to stand but was held back down by his uncle’s firm hand. He jerked back, but Thorin held on tight.

“Stay, Kíli. He’s long dead.”

“Kíli?” Fíli swallowed hard, and his head rolled feebly on the ground. “Uncle?”

“I’m here, Fee.” The younger brother said, shifting to sit closer to him again. “I won’t leave you.”

“Uncle?”

“Sh, _inùdoy,_ ” Thorin’s voice was rough. "It's alright."

Fíli was doe-eyed as he stared up at his Company, and it was clear not everything was being processed. He felt an overwhelming mixture of fear and lethargy from the drugs; his vision was hazy at best, and the figures above him were blurry, not recognizable except by their voices. Even then, there seemed to be a lagging disconnect between his ears and his brain, because their words were jumbled and didn’t make sense.

It terrified him to feel this confused and exposed.

A cool wind passed through the cave, chilling the oil on his bare skin, reminding him of his nakedness, and he shivered and moaned high in his throat.

“We need to get him cleaned of this oil, or else he’ll be freezing by nightfall,” Óin said. “Is that pot of water warmed yet?”

Ori fairly flew over to the pot being warmed by the fire he’d stoked, and nodded. “It’s warm."

“Get me the spare towels, we’ll wipe him down and get him bundled up.”

“Uncle?” Fíli moaned. “Uncle.. uncle.”

“I’m here, Fíli,” Thorin said. He took one of the damped cloths handed to him by Ori, and began cleaning off the gold paint lining his cheekbones.

“Uncle, they.. they shaved me.”

Thorin paused his gentle ministrations, and had to take a breath, reminding himself he’d killed the men by his own hands, and they could do no more harm to his nephew. His other sister-son made a small noise across from him, suspiciously batting away at his eyes.

Only when Bofur passed a dampened towel up his thigh to rid the oil, did Fíli openly break. He could still feel Bór’s fingers sliding into his cleft, thrusting against him. Taunting him of what he was going to become.

“No, please,” he said hoarsely, and tried to turn away from the touch.

“It’s the drugs, Thorin,” Óin said sadly as he watched the young dwarf weep, tears streaking down into his hair. “They’re making him in such a state. The lad’s confused.”

But Thorin shook his head, knowing it was something more. “Move,” he growled to those closest to Fíli. He took his nephew under the arms and pulled him into his lap, cradling him as he used to all too many years ago. Taking his own furs, he wrapped them around the shaking body. Almost instinctively knowing he was now safe, the young prince nuzzled into his neck, and took in a few hitched breaths.

Thorin looked up; the eyes of his Company were upon them, not filled with pity, but aghast, sorrowful.

“Go burn the bodies.”

____________________

 

When Fíli woke, it was to warmth.

He heard the crackling of a fire and the low murmur of voices. Closer, though, he could both hear and feel a deep vibration of someone humming. It soothed the tension and terrible illness he felt, and when he went to lean closer to it, he realized he was already pressed closely against the being that hummed.

“Fíli?”

He could recognize that voice anywhere.

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open. His uncle’s dark gaze was close and looked down at him, pinched back in something he didn’t recognize.

Just past his uncle, lit by the soft glow of the fire, was the rocky outline of a cave.

He frowned at that, and then went back to studying the strange look his uncle was giving him.

Concern? Worry? Relief?

The attention made him nervous, and he shifted a little, suddenly feeling the heaviness and softness of furs only his uncle had. Arms held him tighter then, and when he went to push in closer and hide his face, he paused.

Fine tremors shook his hand as he went to touch his bare face, but Thorin’s firm hand held him back. His eyes were bright as he looked up at him.

“Uncle?"

“I’m here, Fíli. Lie still.”

His head was too heavy to turn, body stiff and unyielding. Briefly, his eyes rolled back and he wheezed, “Kíli?”

“Here, Fee, I’m here.”

“He is beside you, _kidhuzel_ , as are the rest of your Company. You are safe, Fíli. They will never hurt you again.”

 _Promise_? The thought fleeted through his head. Despite the heaviness of his uncle’s furs, Bór’s fingers were still there, and he felt naked, spoilt.

He closed his eyes.

Gently, strong arms, even stronger than Bór’s, adjusted him closer and held him tight. “You are safe here with us,” he repeated. “You will not be alone. This I promise you, Fíli.”

The sizzling and popping of the fire, and the sudden low murmurs of the Company returned. He felt himself starting to slip into a comfortable daze when small, soft hands – _Kíli’s hands_ – began touching his head, gently pulling his hair into the familiar placement of braids. He took his time, delicately brushing each lock, and patting down any strays.

“Rest, brother,” he whispered.

And so he did, knowing when he woke, he would not be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some of you may think there’s not much of a resolution to this, but realistically these are mostly one-shots. This is a sort of trauma (no matter how stoic Fíli comes off to be) that wouldn't be resolved in a matter of days or even weeks. Maybe I’ll take another dig at this later on and continue, but there are other stories to be told that I want to get writing on.
> 
> That being said, there are many more chapters to be written; some are outlined, but most of E-Z are still unplanned. So make my day and leave a comment or prompt- I always love to hear what you think!


	7. F is for Fever (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to **Chris, Filigirl237, FiliKiliThorinForever, Mee, Monsters_missus, ThornyHedge, kenporusty, MatildaJohnson, Silva_13, delank_89, SaucyWench, Anankastic_Eosphoros, and mosslover** for your comments last chapter. You are the reason for TWO updates in two days. My muse bunny appreciates all your encouragement.
> 
>  
> 
> This one is for **waterlilyblue**. You can see her prompt at the end of this chapter, and although it's not exactly what she requested, it has many of the same elements. This one may be split in up to 4 parts, I haven't decided yet.. It's a long one, and our boys are in trouble. 
> 
> Yet again. 
> 
> Bad boys.

Curled atop the undergrowth of the forest, a tiny white creature, no larger than the palm of a hand, whined in confusion. It was cold and wet, still covered in a layer of fluid from just recently being birthed. The creature blinked its milky eyes, trying to find the source of the harsh argument above it, but in its blindness, could not see the faces of the noise. It whined again and tried to stand on stunted paws, but fell back into the earth. 

Above it, two young dwarves looked on at the creature, one in contempt and the other in curiosity, and they continued their spat.

“Are you mad, Kili? We cannot keep that thing.”

"Why not?"

"Why not?" He repeated incredulously. "Mahal's beard Kili, because it's a warg!"

“But look, it must have been abandoned, there’s something wrong with it. It’ll die if we just leave it here.”

“We can, and we will,” Fili said, leaving no room for argument as he studied the foul creature. “We should spare it the misery and kill it.”

“But it’s small! It can’t hurt us,” Kili said. He knelt down and reached forward, where the warg hesitantly sniffed his hand. It cried, weak and high-pitched, and attempted to move closer, but fell on its side again.

The beast was unusual, different from the packs that had attacked them across the open plains. Perhaps because it was birthed too early or simply just born deformed, it was clearly blind and frail looking. The white warg was stunted in size, its snout short, almost resembling the pups they had seen in the Shire while first collecting their burglar.

The thing was actually sort of … _cute_.

“And it will eventually become an adult and eat us. These are not ponies or dogs, Kili. They’re instinctive, filthy. They can't be trained.”

“Sure they can,” Kili said petulantly, to which Fili rolled his eyes. “If the stupid Orcs can train them, why can’t we? When he grows he can battle alongside us!”

“He? You’re being obstinate. We cannot take a warg with us, Thorin will have our heads.”

The tiny warg finally got its paws beneath him and crawled over to Kili’s hand, licking it, wide white eyes gazing in the direction of their voices.

“Let us go, we need to gather food,” Fili continued. “The others are hungry, and I’d rather not be on the other side of Bombur’s wooden spoon.”

Kili sighed loudly and was in the midst of standing to acquiesce, when a branch cracked behind the both of them. During their brief distraction, the brothers failed to notice a creature sneaking up behind them, the soft pads of her paws allowing her to silently stalk her prey.

Fili had just enough time to snap around when the body of a huge warg, over twice the size of him, leaped and tackled Kili to the ground. Her paws trapped him to the ground, bow digging into his back and stealing his breath away as he stared up at her in shock.

There was no way he could move. Trapped beneath her heavy body, Kili could only watch as frothy saliva dripped from her jaws, brow wrinkled in fury. In the next second, she roared and went in for the kill.

A terrified whimper escaped him and he squeezed his eyes shut, preparing as her razor-sharp teeth glanced his throat, but then suddenly her weight was gone.

Over the painful thudding of his heart and the torn whine that escaped him, he heard his brother bellow in rage. Kili opened his eyes just in time to see him pierce her side with his sword.

But she was quick. Whirling on her hind legs, she moved just in time before the weapon could pierce deep enough, and then she was pouncing at Fili, this time quick in her actions to strike and kill. Powerful jaws opened wide and snatched the small dwarf by his midsection, and she shook him furiously, teeth penetrating deep into his flesh. The burst of blood encouraged her to bite even deeper.

Bones snapped and blood spilt, and her prey was certainly on the verge of death.

Her lower fangs were hitting something hard, however, perhaps a weapon or piece of armor, and just as she was about to readjust her bite, she felt something pierce her chest.

She dropped to the ground instantly, felled by an arrow to her heart.

“Fili!” The younger dwarf wheezed. Still recovering from being nearly crushed, Kili dropped his bow to the ground and fell next to his brother, pulling his body from the warg’s flaccid jaw.

Dark crimson blood drenched his clothes and the ground beneath him. At his neck, one certain puncture wound had hit something vital, because blood was spraying out with each beat of his weakening heart.

“Uncle! _Uncle_!” He cried with all his strength. Vision blurring from tears of both pain and fright, he pushed down on the worst of Fili’s injuries. Slippery red liquid poured from in between his fingers, and his brother remained limp and ashen in color, pallidly cast in the dying sunlight above them.

“Thorin! No, no, no, no Fili don’t do this. Fili? _Fee_ , please. Help! _Help_!”

Within seconds, despite his desperation to save him, Kili’s vision darkened around the edges and he, too, collapsed, succumbing to his own wounds.

In the distance, shouts of their Company could be heard, but neither brother could hear as they fell deeper into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waterlilyblue requested the boys to be attacked by a warg. Hope you enjoyed the first part!


	8. F is for Fever (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now about this chapter… Silly me. Had this and the next chapters all planned and written and then realized I got it so awfully, medically wrong (note to self: cauterization for an arterial bleed is a bad idea!). I probably could have gotten away with it since it’s fiction, but my perfectionist side was like… No. Rewrote the entire thing, and then came to the conclusion that next time I should probably be doing the research before I write! Anyway, hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thank you so much to **ThornyHedge, kenporusty, Mee, Filigirl237, FiliKiliThorinForever, Silva_13, SallyMcBride, waterlilyblue, SaucyWench, Monsters_missus, Anankastic_Eosphoror** for your wonderful words and comments!

Nori was stoking a fire and Bombur preparing some pots for supper when they first heard the shouts. Pausing their movements, the entire company quickly looked up to each other, including Thorin who stilled the sharpening of his blade. Ears astute and eyes scanning their campsite, it wasn’t until they heard the second shout, clear as day this time – raw and terrified ringing through the air - that they moved as one, sprinting towards the tree line.

They discovered the scene only a few yards into the densely packed oaks: a huge warg, more than twice the size of them, felled by an arrow. Just to the side of it, their two princes lied side-by-side, motionless, and drenched in blood.

Ori made a tiny sound of shock. Drinking in the scene of their kin so gruesomely injured, they only hesitated for a second before they rushed in.

“Kili! Fili!”

“Oh no, Mahal  _no_.”

Oin had only seconds to assess each young dwarf to determine who needed help first, but as soon as his eyes found the blood spurting from the side of Fili’s neck, he dove in without another moments waste. The flesh was gaping and wide, exposing torn muscle and a white hint of bone. “Get me a cloth, quickly!”

Bofur tore off his jacket and thrust it forwards and the healer snatched it from him with a hand covered in slippery, bright red blood. He pressed it hard onto the bleeding wound. Brow creased in a deep intensity, he threw a glance at Kili. “How is the boy?”

Dwalin was examining the large red, raised scratches at his throat that thankfully hadn't pierced the skin. At his head, Gloin was studying his uneven breaths. “A few wounds to his neck and chest, though none drew blood. His breathing is strange.”

“Oin,” Thorin plead was cutting, eyes widening at the amount of blood that was soaking the cloth at Fili's neck.

The healer grunted, lips pursed as he was faced with the challenge of treating both of the boys’ grave wounds.

It was the closest to panic that the Company had ever seen him.

“This isn’t good, Thorin,” he said under his breath. “The bleeding isn’t slowing, I need to get him back to camp.”

Thorin’s eyes grew even wider. He had only seen wounds like this in battle once, and that dwarf had quickly succumbed to his catastrophic injuries. The fact that his sister-son was hurt in such a way left no room for hesitation. Thorin bent over and scooped his nephew into his arms, cradling him to his chest. He only stopped for a second to let Oin readjust his hold on the cloth that was doing little to staunch the blood flow.

“Bofur, Nori, run ahead, get a fire stoked as hot as you can get it. Bifur, find my pack and spread out two bedrolls by the fire. Hurry!” Oin demanded. The dwarves took off, sprinting towards their campsite, leaving he and Thorin to stumble after them.

“Dwalin, come!” Thorin said.

The warrior nodded and lifted the prince into his arms as if he weighed little more than a dwarrow. He followed closely behind the group, eyes dark as he carried his charge.

The bloody scene they left behind became eerily silent and still. A few minutes passed, and then there was a sudden movement from beneath the legs of the felled mother warg. A tiny pup emerged, stumbling on its underdeveloped legs. It shook itself, then tilted its head as it searched for sound. Eventually disheartened by the silence, it only took a passing sniff at its true mother, and then the tiny creature began heading east, following the large blood trail left behind that smelt so familiar to it.

____________________

“Place him here, quickly!” Oin shouted, motioning to the bedroll that had been hastily positioned by the fire. “Nori, hold this while I find my supplies.”

He quickly traded places with the other dwarf, who without hesitation, held hard pressure to Fili’s neck. His hands immediately grew wet with blood, but he only frowned and pressed harder.

Oin snatched his leather satchel out of Ori’s hands, who offered it to him with doe-eyes, and he tore through it, searching for his supplies. Just as he found what he needed, Dwalin and Gloin joined the group, gently placing the youngest dwarf on the other spare bedroll.

“How is he?” Oin asked, but his attention never left the blond, who’s face had now taken a sunken, ashy look. He looked pointedly at Ori for a moment, then the ear trumpet at his neck. Ori scrambled to him and with shaking hands, held the hearing piece to his ear.

“He won’t wake, but the bleeding has stopped,” Dwalin said. 

“Strip him, search for any other injuries,” he replied as he began shedding Fili’s own clothes. Once the boy’s chest was bared, his horrific wounds came into view. Even Thorin’s brow pinched in despair. “I need more cloths. Hurry, the lad doesn’t have much time.” 

Balin and Dori unlaced their packs, pulling out blankets and handing them to the healer.

“Balin, hold it to the wounds at his chest. Not too forceful, just enough to keep pressure on them.”

“Fili, laddie, can you hear me?” Oin asked and tapped his cheek. With no response, he instead moved to the boy’s ribcage, which was clearly disfigured. Grimly, he palpated the bones. Though dwarven bones were strong and not meant to break, these easily shifted under his touch.

“Aulë, this is not good,” he muttered. “Not good at all.”

“Oin?” Thorin said breathlessly, tightening his grip around Fili’s shoulder.

Beneath his hands, Fili was getting worse by the minute. Where earlier he was pale, now he was gray in color, the skin around his eyes dark, lips dry and colorless as they parted with each grating, forced inhale. Bright red liquid still poured out between Nori’s fingers, precious life leaving the prince’s body with each fluttering, weakening heartbeat.

“Thorin, get behind the lad, we need to sit him upright, elevate the wound and bandage his ribs,” Oin said.

Together, they carefully lifted the smaller dwarf and positioned him so he was resting against Thorin’s chest. His head lolled on his shoulder for second, then finally came to rest against his uncle’s cheek. While one strong arm supported him around the chest, the other traded places with Nori, holding the rag that staunched the blood.

“Fili?” He asked.

But his nephew remained silent.

“Remove the cloth at his chest, Balin, I need to bandage it.”

When Balin pulled back, his heaving rib cage was exposed again. Blood oozed from the wounds, but the smallest ones had already begun to clot. Expertly, he applied ointment to the lacerations, then wrapped them in bandages.

“Keep pressure on his neck, Thorin, do not move it. I’ll going to tend to Kili; tell me if he wakes or gets worse.”

Having done all he could do for Fili, the healer quickly moved to the younger brother, who was just beginning to wake. Ori followed close to his side, keeping his trumpet close to his ear so Oin could work with both of his hands. 

“Young Kili, can you hear me?” 

The boy moaned, tossing his head weakly against the bedroll. He’d been stripped down to his waist, revealing milky white skin that was already beginning to bruise where the warg had trapped him. 

“Answer me, Kili,” Oin said. He felt along his ribcage, thankfully not feeling any fractures.

The dwarf’s eyes slowly blinked open, brow knitted in pain. “Stop.” 

“Good lad. Where are you hurting?” 

Kili’s breathing sped up as the pain intensified. Waking to his kin surrounding him, he had first been confused until his injuries made themselves known. Then, flashes of what had happened hit him hard, and he was struggling to sit up. “Fili!”

“ _Kili_ ,” Oin shouted. “Calm yourself! Stay still.”

Between him and Dwalin, they managed to get him lying flat again. Pale skin grew even pastier, and his nostrils flared as the boy tried to stay atop his pain.

“Please,” he begged. “Fee… wh-where?” 

“Right next to you, laddie,” Dwalin said gruffly. He kept his large hands firmly on the dwarf’s shoulders though, keeping him still.

“Turn your head and see for yourself,” Oin soothed him.

Easing his head to the right, he saw his brother in Thorin’s arms. His heart stuttered in his chest, nearly fainting from the sight of it.

Bare chested, Fili’s bandaged ribs, already tinted pink from oozing blood, heaved for breath. His skin was quite literally gray, covered in sweat. Thorin, pale himself, was pressing a large cloth into his neck, which was soaked with bright red blood.

“Oh Mahal,” he whimpered. “F-Fili?”

“He will be fine in time. Now tell me, Kili, where are you hurt?”

The young dwarf swallowed, tears pricking his eyes as overwhelming emotion and pain filled his body. Lips trembling in shock, he barely made out, “M-My back.. the most.”

Oin’s eyes widened. “Dwalin, Gloin, help me turn him.”

With extreme caution, the three turned him onto his side, carefully keeping his body aligned. Gently, Oin tapped and palpated Kili’s spine and ribs, then felt a little deeper along his muscles.

“No, stop,” he moaned as the tears finally fell.

“Okay, laddie,” Oin said and breathed a sigh of relief. Bruising had already formed diagonally across the boy’s back where he’d been pinned between his bow and the heavy warg. Though the muscles were taught and quivering from the trauma, the bones remained stable and intact. “Let him down, easy.”

Kili let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and fought to keep his sobs down.

“You’re going to be okay, laddie. Nothing too serious. I’m going to give you some poppy milk for your pain.”

“B-but Fili?”

“I’ll be tending to your brother again once you're more comfortable.” 

Oin dug through his pack to find a glass of cloudy liquid. He unstopped it, then held the lip to Kili’s mouth. “Just a few sips.”

The poppy milk worked within seconds, and Kili fell into a deep sleep, brow finally smoothing out as he relaxed. Those surrounding him felt their own shoulders sink from a release of tension.

“Cover him and watch his breathing for me, Dwalin,” Oin said. “I must check his brother.” 

“How is he?” Thorin asked in concern as the healer finally knelt next to him.

“He’ll recover,” the healer said simply. “Has Fili wakened?”

“He’s moved some, but hasn’t said a word.”

Oin’s eyes brightened. “Fili? Fili, look at me.”

The blond prince shifted again in his uncle’s arms.

“Fili,” Thorin whispered in his ear, holding his face close to his. “Open your eyes, _kidhuzurâl_.”

Pale eyelashes fluttered.

“Good. Wake, Fili.”

Azure eyes blinked open, glassy and not really focusing on anything.

“That’s my boy,” Thorin encouraged him.

His voice cracked, “Un..cle?”

“Here, Fili,” Thorin said, smoothing the hair back that had plastered in sweat to his forehead.

Fili simply stared up at him, then slowly looked at the others above him, looking for something – or someone – in particular. His tongue darted out to wet his cracked lips and then he rasped, “Kee?”

“Keep him calm,” Oin warned as he crushed up a paste with his mortar and pestle.

Thorin shushed him quietly. “Easy. Lie still.”

Fili’s brow pinched, eyes hurrying over their faces but not finding his brother. “Wh-where’s.. Kili?”

“Help me with him, Thorin,” Oin said as he returned to their side. “He needs to take this before I treat his neck.”

Oin then handed him a small pot, filled with a thick white paste. Murmurings of Kili's name went unnoticed as they continued. 

“Poppy paste,” Oin explained. “It will be easier for him to take than the milk right now. Feed it to him slowly and rub it on his gums while I bandage his neck, it will relieve his pain. Bofur, Nori, hold his legs and arms while I do this. I’d rather him not worsen his injuries.”

As Oin gathered the bandages, Thorin adjusted his grip on the smaller dwarf, then scooped up a small amount of paste onto his finger.

“Open your mouth,  _inùdoy_ ,” Thorin said in his ear. Slowly, the boy’s lips parted and he pushed his finger in. With gentle pressure, he rubbed it onto Fili’s gums, taking care to spread it evenly across. “Good.”

He slipped his finger out and coated it in the paste, then pushed it in again. This time, he felt a weak, rhythmic sucking as the boy took to his finger. Fili rolled his tongue around the digit, tasting the strange flavor, and a moan escaped from deep within him as he felt the pain begin to ebb.

“That’s a good laddie,” Oin encouraged him while preparing another paste. “Let him have the whole bowl, Thorin. He needs the relief.”

The world around Fili began to blur and his body began to tingle. It was not lost on him, though, that his brother was still missing, and the others refused to speak of him. “ _K_ eeee?”

“Do not worry about your brother right now,” Thorin said, still pale and desperate to keep him calm and still.

But Fili only whimpered. The last thing he remembered was the warg’s jaw around his brother’s throat, then _nothing_.

He was scared. Pain encompassed his entire body; he’d felt weaker than he’d felt in his entire life, and Kili was…

There was no way Kili could have survived the crushing bite from a warg. He’d seen the warg take him – he’d been bitten in the neck – which could only mean…

Fili gurgled, back arching in his uncle’s arms. “Uncccle. _Kili_.”

Thorin hesitated before speaking again, his voice deep, “You need to be still Fili. Oin, he’s trembling.”

“It’s the shock from his injuries. Balin, give me a blanket, please,” he heard the old healer say. A hand squeezed his shoulder, then rubbed the bare skin of his arm. “Fili, rest now. You will feel better when you wake.” 

A weary tear broke free from his lashes, as the young dwarf had no power to fight the medicine. His last thoughts were that he hoped he wouldn’t wake; he surely would die of a broken heart anyway, because his brother was certainly dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inùdoy - son  
> kidhuzurâl - golden one
> 
>  
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think in a comment!


	9. F is for Fever (Part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience. This update took a little longer than I expected... about halfway through writing this, my family and I had to make the incredibly hard decision to let my dog go. She gave us twelve wonderful years, and I miss her _awfully._
> 
> As I expected, the muse ran and hid for a few days, and I'm still not happy with this final chapter. I forced it out though, and I'm ready to start fresh on the next chapter.
> 
> Thank you to **Silva_13, ThornyHedge, bammes, dealing_89, mjeanuniverse, Mee, Faen, dysnmi, Monsters_missus, waterlilyblue, FiliKiliThorinForever, kenporusty, Anankastic_Eosphoros, FUlyrica** for your kind comments.

By nightfall, Fili had fallen ill with a terrible fever.

On top of his uncle’s furs and beneath a threadbare blanket, he shivered painfully. Oin had pulled him up to rest on a stack of spare bedding, elevating him upright to ease pressure on his broken ribs, yet his brow was still pulled in distress.

“Fili?” Thorin rewet a cloth and wiped the glistening forehead. His nephew tossed weakly at the cold pressure. “Easy, inùdoy. Do not fight us.”

Thin fingers tightened their hold on the worn furs, twisting the hairs while he grimaced. Restless from his fever, the smaller dwarf had become unresponsive, and the only discernable words that left his mouth were of his brother’s name.

Their healer had already redressed the wounds once. Beneath the bandages, the skin was red and heated, infection brewing from the warg’s teeth that had pierced his skin.

Mercifully, their other heir of Durin had been lucky.

“Almost done, laddie, hold still,” Oin said as he examined the bruising on Kili’s back. He’d been turned on his side, held up by Dwalin, who kept him still through his anxious shifting. Removing him from his brother’s side had been a battle, one only won after Thorin’s stern reprimand, because Kili had begun to curl in on himself in pain.

Black and dark purple bruising had spread, encompassing almost all of his back. Though he was surely sore, it was thankfully the extent of his injuries. With practiced hands, Oin spread a balm over the bruises, meant to soothe the deep ache, and then finally said, “Alright, alright. Go on, slow.”

Kili clawed his way up, pushing Dwalin aside without regard. Wincing, he immediately returned to his brother’s side.

“Fee?”

The gurgled cries coming from the dwarf were beginning to scare him. Blue-green eyes peaked from beneath heavy lids, though they were unfocused from fever and the poppy.

“Oin, why doesn’t he see me?”

“It’s the fever, lad,” Oin said. Wiping his hands clean of the balm, he then placed one over Fili’s brow.

Thorin looked up at him, eyes dark and piercing. “He’s getting worse. He burns.”

Oin frowned, studying the young dwarf who was red in the face and burning from infection. Then, his next moves were sure and emphasized, filled with urgency. “Dwalin, Thorin, carry him with me. We need to get him cooled down in the stream.”

Wasting no time, Thorin brushed away the warrior’s hands and scooped up his sister-son under the back and behind the knees. Just passed the treeline, they followed the healer to a small stream where they stripped Fili down to his smallclothes.

Thorin hesitated, about to carry him into the water. “What of his bandages?”

“Never mind them, there’s no time to waste,” Oin said hurriedly as he guided them in. “We can redress the wounds after.”

Ignoring his own clothes, Thorin carried Fili into the running water, sitting down in the sand so the gentle stream was up to their chests. Instantly, the blond keened. He bucked weakly against arms that held him as his shaking intensified into body wracking tremors.

“Easy, laddie,” Oin said. He cupped water within his palms and poured it over Fili’s hair. Though Fili’s brow twisted in what looked like agony, Oin continued. “You have a fever and we must lower it.”

“Khâzash. Fee, stop,” Kili’s voice was trembling as he knelt down next to his brother.

Thorin shushed the dwarf in his arms, cradling him gently to avoid putting pressure on his broken ribs and lacerations. With a soothing hand, he smoothed back Fili’s hair from his forehead, then kept it there to gently bring his head back onto his shoulder. Voice deep and rumbling, he began to hum in his ear; childhood verses of their home that he’d sung to his nephew many, many years ago.

“Keep him here for a few minutes, Thorin. I need to go prepare more salve. Master Hobbit, come with me, we’ll need to find some lobelia leaves,” Oin said. He gave a gentle pat to Fili’s arm then waded out of the water, heading towards their camp with Bilbo hurrying in tow.

Thorin acknowledged the healer with a single nod. He shifted the dwarf in his arms to get him more comfortable, the boy’s body only wilting further in his hold. Cupping water in his hand, he doused the blond’s head, tiny streams running down his fevered face and parted lips.

“Uncle..?” Kili’s whispered word hardly made noise over the rippling stream.

Thorin kept his gaze on Fili, but his words were poised only for him. They were gentle, concerned, and it made Kili’s heart hurt. “You should be resting, Kili.”

“I want to stay,” he said. As if to prove a point, he sunk from his knees down to his bottom. The stream rose up to his chest, and the coolness actually felt soothing on his bruises.

“You’ve been injured, inùdoy,” Thorin continued. Finally, his gaze rose to him. Kili saw a softness there that he’d never seen before. “Your brother is safe with me.“

“I want to stay,” he repeated stubbornly. Then almost lamely, he said, “The stream… it feels good on my back.”

Thorin seemed to consider this for a minute, before nodding. Cupping more water into his hands, he continued to try to cool down his nephew, only stopping when Fili moaned dolefully. The smaller dwarf bowed in on himself and twisted in Thorin’s grip.

“Shh, kidhuzurâl. Do not fight us. You have a fever and we must cool you down. Do you hear me, Fili? You are safe here.”

His words went unanswered as the boy’s illness took full hold.

____________________

At the campfire, the company worked in quiet tandem to dry Fili off, rewrap his bandages and bundle him in blankets. It seemed the dunk in the stream had reduced his fever by a degree or two, and in turn, eased his restless struggles.

“Give him to me while you dry off,” Dwalin told Thorin, leaving little room for argument. He held his arms open while he leaned against a large tree stump. Trusting him without any uncertainty, Thorin gently passed the blanketed bundle over, all the while keeping him upright to ease his breathing. 

Fili looked tiny within the tattooed arms. He still shivered in feeble bursts, one of the effects of the infection that ravished his body. During the particularly hard ones, his brow creased as his torn muscles and broken bones contracted.

Thorin was quick to redress in dry clothes and order Kili to lay and have his back taken care of again. The silence in their camp was oppressive, so different than their usual nightly chatter, and this was the only reason why they heard it:

A sound. _Rustling_.

The movement off in the dark bushes startled them all, and in a split second, everyone with a free hand had drawn their weapons. Thorin’s own muscles rippled as he rushed to move in front of Fili, shielding him.

There was a brief moment of silence until Bofur yelled, “Show yourself!”

Another snap of a branch, then, stumbling out of the shrubs came a tiny white creature. Its opaque eyes caught vividly in the glow of their campfire. The company immediately deflated, except for Kili, who growled, and pushed himself up to his knees and away from Oin.

There before them was the creature that had caused this entire mess, that had caused his brother to become so terribly injured.

“Go away!” He cried vehemently, swiping away tears from his cheeks. “You stupid creature!”

The pup’s ears perked up as if it had heard something of familiarity. Blinded but following its other sharp senses, it took a few wobbly steps towards the dwarf.

“I’ll take care of it,” Nori said from across the campfire. He placed down his mace and drew a long knife from the belt at his hip. But before he reached it, the warg had already gotten to Kili’s side.

Thorin’s heir recoiled with a snarl, but the thing only followed him further. With just the slightest hesitancy, it sniffed him, then stuck a small tongue out to lick his hand.

“No.. wait,” Ori grabbed his older brother’s hand, halting him from getting any further to the animal. It had curled up against Kili’s knees, nuzzling close to the warmth there.

“Ori,” Thorin warned, voice deep. Fili suddenly began to toss and turn again, as if he was able to sense something was surely wrong. Wincing at what his stern warning had done, Thorin shifted closer to his nephew and smoothed his sweaty hair back. “Shh, inùdoy. Sleep.”

“I don’t think it means any harm,” Ori, always the more simple one, explained. “Look at it, it’s sleeping.”

Uncertainly, Kili reached out and put a hand on the creature, nearly covering its entire body with his palm. Its white coat was coarse, and it was thin and bony, shivering a little in the cool night air. It had no resemblance to its huge mother that he’d seen earlier.

“Kili, don’t touch it,” Thorin said quietly so as not to disturb his nephew any further. “Nori, please.”

Ori had yet to let go of his brother, though. Instead, Balin knelt down next to the pup, studying it. “Wargs are highly intelligent creatures. Malicious, yes, but that is only what they are taught. This tiny thing has just been birthed, I doubt it knows its own kin from foe. In fact, it seems to have taken a liking to young Kili here.”

“It’s cold,” Kili whispered after a moment of looking at it. He reached for his discarded blanket and covered the thing. It sighed contentedly.

Nori shook his head. “Mahal, help us.”

___________________

By sunrise, none had slept. The company had spent the remaining of the night hovering and worried over their golden dwarf, who tossed and moaned and fought any hands that tried to comfort.

It was only an hour after the sun crested the horizon, that Fili’s fever lowered enough to become acceptable. Now drenched in a cold sweat, Thorin, Oin, and Dwalin worked to get him washed and dry again.

“Take these to the stream and wash them, Ori,” Oin said, not looking up as he handed off Fili’s sweat-soaked linens.

For the first time in hours, Fili’s eyes blinked, slowly at first, and then they stayed open. Bloodshot but no longer dull from fever, they danced around, taking in the sunrise, and then his uncle’s face above him.

“Uncle?” He rasped. Head lolling against the fur below him, he tried to understand what was rubbing his exposed flesh; finally, as his mind cleared, he realized it to be cool, wet cloths. He shivered, gooseflesh rising on his skin, and he moaned in confusion as he realized his nakedness.

“Fili,” Thorin breathed, relief evident in his voice.

Fili gazed up at him, confusion pinching his brow because Thorin had never looked at him that way. And if he looked hard enough, he swore he could almost see tears in the corners of his uncle’s eyes. Trying to shy away, he tried to push at the cool cloths, attempting to sit up.

“No, Fili, stay down,” Thorin said. Avoiding the worst of the wounds, he used gentle hands to keep his shoulders down. “You’re still injured.”

“I don’t..” He frowned as he tried to remember what had brought him into such a confused and sluggish state.

“Gloin, toss me that blanket,” Oin said above him.

Suddenly, Fili was enveloped in warmth, and it was enough to still his confused movements.

“There,” his uncle said softly.

But then it hit him suddenly and full force as he tried to sit up again.

Pain.

Sharp, crushing agony enveloped his entire chest, worse than anything he’d experienced before. His shattered bones crunched with each quivering breath, leaving him light-headed and nauseous. Wheezing from the overwhelming shock, he couldn’t hold down a whimper.

“He needs to be sitting up, it will help his breathing. Sit here, Thorin. Bofur, help me,” Fili heard their healer say. 

Strong hands gently heaved his broken body up where it came to rest against a sturdy chest. Familiar arms encircled him, supporting him upright. Then there was a scratchy beard against his cheek, and his uncle’s voice rumbled right next to his ear. “Relax against me, Fili. You’ve no need fight.”

Exhaustion pulled from the deepest depths of him, but something was still lingering, keeping him from rest.

And that was when Fili remembered. It hit him hard, with the intensity of an arrow to his heart, because this was worse than him being injured. This was him being attacked and Kili…

Hot tears gathered in his eyes, slipping down his cheeks and Fili moaned in despair. Kili had been attacked; Kili had been attacked right at the throat, Kili was…

His brother was dead.

_How could he have forgotten his brother?_

“ _Kili_ ,” he moaned weakly. His body convulsed in a huge shudder as acrid bile pooled in the back of his throat, nearly choking him. Coughing for air, he wept. “Kili.. Sorry.. m’so sorry.”

“Fili,” Thorin’s arms held him tighter and the strong thighs on either side of him squeezed, holding him in place. “Fili, _stop_.”

But he couldn’t.

The weight of his brother’s death crushed his broken chest even further, stealing the air right from his lungs. 

_What had he done?_

“Fili, Fili, I’m right here! Stop, Fili, you’re scaring me!”

That voice. He knew that voice.

Surely it couldn’t be real, because it belonged to..

“Fili, please, it’s me. Open your eyes, khâzash.”

Fili didn’t want to, he couldn’t face it. There was no place in the world for him without his brother.

Small, tender hands suddenly held his cheeks, and then there was a light kiss on his forehead. “I’m here, Fee. Look at me.”

Fili blinked and then looked right at his brother.

A sob escaped his cracked lips; Fili was so angry and confused and _terrified_ that he couldn’t stop staring into the wide brown orbs while thinking that this very moment couldn’t be real, _he had to be dreaming_.

“Fili?” Kili looked startled as he looked to his uncle and then Oin. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

Of course Fili was in pain, but he could hardly feel it passed his racing heart. Taking in small, stuttering breaths, he blinked again and stared, but Kili was still there.

He finally managed, “You.. you died.”

Kili’s face fell and he grew pale. “What?”

“You’re.. _dead_. I saw.. it.”

There it was; he said it with finality. Fili keened again, squeezing his eyes tight as if wanting to wake from a terrible nightmare, but everything felt too real.

“Fili,” Thorin said. His voice broke as if he’d realized their horrible mistake. “Oh Fili. No. Give me your hand.”

A large hand grappled for his, taking it from where it had twisted into the fur at his hip.

“Kili, come closer.. Here, Fili. Feel. Your brother is right here.”

Trembling fingers found a soft tunic. It was enough to have him opening his eyes again.

He felt spent and sick but he couldn’t take his gaze off his brother.

“I’m here,” Kili said, holding his hand on top of Fili’s.

“But you.. I saw you..”

“You saved me, Fili. The warg, she had me pinned but you got her just in time,” Kili was not used to this, his brother had never needed to be soothed, never needed comfort, but right now his eyes were huge, drinking in every word he said. To prove his point, Kili tightened his hold on his brother’s hand.

“You’re.. here?” Uncertainty threaded Fili’s words; it was as if he believed this moment would be gone should he blink.

“I am,” he said. “We’ve been worried about you, Fee. The warg bit you and you got an infection. You’ve had a bad fever all night.”

Wide eyes blinked, like a dwarfling. “I did?”

“You did, kidhuzurâl,” Thorin said, holding him closer and touching the side of his face to his. “Oin’s medicine is beginning to help, but you are still ill.”

“And you still need rest,” Oin said firmly. He held a small pot in his hand and offered it up to their leader. “Give him this, he should be able to swallow now. He needs the relief before the pain becomes too much.”

Fili’s eyes never left his brothers as his uncle held the small cup to his lips. He wrinkled his nose at the bitter taste of the poppy milk, but it only took seconds for it to soothe away the worst of his pain.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Kili promised him. He didn’t move until the blond’s eyes finally closed and the white-knuckled grip in his shirt relaxed.

____________________

Three days passed before Gandalf entered the makeshift camp, having completed his other, more pressing obligations. Throughout the quiet bustle as some dwarves cooked and others finished chores, the wizard’s eyes immediately fell on the most unusual sight.

The company’s gallant leader was resting against a large tree stump. His face was drawn and pale, and it spoke volumes that Gandalf’s arrival did not wake him. In his arms, a small blond dwarf was curled in deep sleep. His skin was pasty and he could sense a sickness even at the far distance where he stood.

But what was most curious, was resting on Thorin’s other side. The blond’s brother had one hand tangled in Fili’s undershirt, and the other cupping a tiny, white creature. Kili’s mouth was open wide as he snored.

“They’ve only just fallen asleep,” a voice came from beside him; Bilbo stood watching them, lips pursed around his pipe.

“Oh?” Gandalf asked.

“They were attacked by a warg whilst gathering food. Fili’s fever has only just broke.”

As if smelling a new presence, the warg pup’s nose began to twitch, and then a second later, it crawled out from beneath Kili’s hand. Rising on stunted legs, it raised its hackles. He growled in the direction of the wizard, teeth snarled back in a direct warning to whoever had approached its family.

Gandalf hummed low in his throat, tilting his head to the side at the small creature in bemusement.

Kili shifted in his sleep, patting the warg’s nape tiredly and mumbled. “Shh, Var.”

The pup seemed to consider this before sitting on its haunches. Despite being soothed, it sat waiting, on guard.

“Var?” Bilbo asked.

Dwalin paused from where he sat whittling, and nodded. “Varak. Loyalty.”

The wise wizard’s blue eyes studied the company before him, and then the tiny creature that sat so boldly in front of its kin. He hummed again as if having the foresight of what was to come. “A most fitting name, indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Inùdoy** _Son_  
>  **Kidhuzurâl** _Golden one_  
>  **Khâzash** _Brother_  
>  **Varak** _Loyal, loyalty_


	10. G is for Guilt (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, apologies to those who have been waiting for an update. Real Life has been extremely busy and work has been very stressful lately. I took a day off from work today, and found myself spending the afternoon writing this out in the sunshine. It was very refreshing :o)
> 
> So here's the chapter "G" that I skipped. It's only a two part - and the second chapter is nearly done, so don't expect too long of a wait. It's a stand-alone, not connected to the other previous chapters.
> 
> As always, I truly appreciate everyone's feedback. There's no better feeling than hearing what you have to say - your thoughts, the good or bad, the suggestions - it's all treasured more than you know. **Bammes, Mee, dsynmi, Silva_13, Thorny, FiliKiliRp, FiliKiliThorinForever, Mosslover, Monsters_missus, SaucyWench, Kenporusty, and Waterlilyblue** thank you all for taking the time to write a comment.
> 
>  
> 
> And now, here's some more plotless whump.......

From the moment Dean had met Aidan at his audition, he'd wanted him. He freaking  _wanted_ him, which was strange because, yeah, he'd had a fling with a guy or two in his early twenties, but he'd never  _wanted_ a man. Aidan was a breath of fresh air - quirky and humble, which Dean found the most appealing because for someone that talented and attractive - way too attractive - his ego should have been through the roof. But it wasn't, and Dean had felt instantly comfortable around the other actor, the feeling you got around someone you'd known your entire life. 

When he didn't get a call back after his audition, he'd painfully forced himself forget Aidan Turner, but somehow months later, he'd received the phone call that had changed his life. Peter Jackson's congratulations through the speaker had come as an astounding surprise, and within moments of ending the call, his gut was churning at the idea of once again meeting the curly-haired actor.

Later, it came by no surprise that the Irishman quickly captured his heart. It also came by no surprise that he was marginally freaking out, wondering how he could have fallen in love with a costar who was most certainly not into homosexual relationships -  _because even a year ago, he himself was only into dating women!_  And so Dean bit the bullet, pretended to be the straight guy, and instead poured himself into his work and his photography. It kept his mind off of his growing attraction, and on the long days on set, if there were times where he kept his hand a little too long on Aidan's shoulder or stared a little too intensely, Dean could pass it off as being Fíli, ever-protective and adoring big brother.

It wasn't until months later that it happened.

Dean's eyes were scanning the pink horizon as his Honda chugged on, eating up gas and miles as he and Aidan silently drove their way towards Wellington to meet up with their castmates for dinner. Normally, time spent in the car together was bursting with conversation - at least on Aidan's end, because he had as much energy as a newborn puppy. At times the Kiwi could hardly get a word in edgewise, but that was one of the many things he found so endearing. Aidan was as extroverted as a person could get. He could talk for hours, and Dean was perfectly content to let him. The blond was more of a silent type anyway. Always listening and observing - it was the artist in him. Between them, it was the perfect balance. But now, Aidan was silent and fidgeting in the passenger seat, and for the first time Dean felt uncomfortable and awkward. Because a silent Aidan was never a good thing.

Worriedly, Dean scrubbed his mind for anything he could've let slip over the past week - _on Tuesday he knew he might've gone too far at offering a neck rub, but Aid had had a migraine and it was entirely innocent!_ \- however in his anxiety, his memory was blank. He must've done something for Aidan to suddenly be this standoffish though... he had known there was always a chance Aid could see right through him, that he was risking their friendship over a silly little crush -  _more than a crush_ , his mind said, _you love him_ \- but then suddenly Aidan was speaking.

"I want to talk to you about something." Solemn and tense.

_Fuck._

Dean swallowed, his hands tightening around the steering wheel. He forced his voice to stay steady. "Okay."

His chest twinged uncomfortably as Aidan's silence continued. Then, the Irishman scrubbed his face and shifted in his seat. He puffed out a breath and fidgeted again, clearly uncomfortable.

When Aidan still didn't say anything, Dean braced himself for the worst, knowing he'd somehow fucked up the best thing that had ever happened to him. The road in front of him was blurring, and he knew it had nothing to do with the rain on the windshield.

"Dean..." Aidan finally said. Dean clung to the tone, memorizing the perfect timbre of his voice, because this was probably the last conversation they'd be having together as friends. Nauseous now, Dean almost missed the brunet's mumbled words. "I like you."

For a second, Dean waited. His brow creased in confusion to where this conversation had turned; it was the opposite of what he expected, and it took a few moments to regain control. "I like you, too," he said carefully. Of course he liked Aidan - even if Dean was pining for more, he was still the best mate he'd ever had.

"No," Aidan was sounding more upset. Dean spared a glance at him and was surprised to find his expression pinched and eyes dark. Another few seconds of fidgeting and Dean was wondering what the hell was going on, when - "I  _like_ you, Dean."

Dean could feel his mouth drop and eyes widen at his friend's declaration. He'd pictured this very moment for countless days, dreamt about it for  _months_ , and in this very moment his mind was empty. This was the last thing he'd expected actually coming from Aidan's mouth, and maybe the shock of it all was why they were in their current situation - because if life were fair, he and Aidan would have continued their drive into the setting sun, and Dean could have told him everything he'd held in since his very first audition.

But life wasn't fair.

Looking back, he couldn't remember how it had happened, though one might have put money on the worsening weather conditions, the other driver's unerring exhaustion and her slight intoxication. All Dean could suddenly see was headlights, haloed bright through the wet windshield. From his emotional upheaval, his reactions were delayed, and he couldn't do anything except stare in shock. The next second, there was an explosion and their car was moving  _sideways_ , and then another loud crack, like a gunshot, and he was stunned as airbags burst and crashed into their unsuspecting bodies.

____________________

Dazed, Dean blinked.

There was chaos surrounding him.

He didn't remember the first responders arriving, didn't remember how or when he had exited the car. All Dean knew in that very moment was the terrible shivers that wracked his rain-soaked body, and the spasms in his hand as he clutched his cell phone until it literally cracked between his fingers.

Slowly, noise filtered in. Between the whining of three fire brigades and two ambulances, the sobbing of a young child and its mother, and the heavy, breathless shouts of uniformed officers, Dean’s head started throbbing. It pounded in time to his heartbeat, which pulsed hard, fast; it stole his breath, like his lungs couldn’t keep up in time with his body’s desperate need for oxygen. He was dizzy – how he was actually standing up on his own two feet was nothing short of a miracle, because he couldn’t feel anything below his waist – it was numb, probably from shock, but Dean couldn’t think about that right now.

_Not now._

His eyes slowly tracked to his crushed Honda, surrounded by medical personnel. Because Aidan was still in there. And he was dead; he was sure of it. Dean could see the whites of Aidan's eyes from where he was standing, skin ghostly white, still – _so still_. Surrounded by medics, his body was completely motionless, at an odd angle from where he'd slumped sideways, only partially held up by his seatbelt.

“… sir?”

An officer was trying to get his attention, but Dean shifted some, moving so he could see Aidan better. Because the moment he broke sight of him, he knew he’d be gone. As it was, he could only watch in muted horror as the medics determinedly searched for life in his friend's broken body.

“Can you tell me if you’re injured, sir? I know you were involved in the crash.”

Dean wasn’t aware he cried out when the officer grasped his arm for attention, the sound almost animalistic that tore high in his throat. Without thinking, he broke free and tried to stumble forward, closer to Aidan. He still had to tell him, he hadn't gotten the chance to say -

“Sir, stay here. You need to stay back.”

His struggle was weak, and Dean gave up easily, allowing himself to be pulled a few yards back. Numbly, he swayed, still hardly keeping his footing under him.

“ _Got a pulse_!”

Dean’s heart stuttered at the shout from inside the vehicle, and he watched as the medics moved with newfound invigoration, because they were dealing with a live body now, not a corpse.

“ _It’s weak, let’s get him on a backboard and move. Someone hand me a collar_.”

“C’mon, pal. Your friend is getting taken care of. Can you look at me?”

The large hand tightened around his bicep, grounding in its grasp, clinical. The size was too familiar to Aidan’s, and it sent an icy shiver through him.

“Sir?”

Dean’s gaze slowly met his. He could feel how wide his eyes had gotten, how round they grew to take in the destruction. Aidan still hadn’t wakened, not as a collar was fastened tightly around his neck, or as he was rolled bonelessly onto a backboard and carried to the waiting stretcher.

Even still unconscious as the paramedics shoved a tube down his throat – the movement rough and quick – _painful_.

“Um,” Dean couldn’t think. Couldn’t remember what the young officer was saying or why he was looking at him so intently.

“Are you hurt?” He repeated.

Still dazed, Dean could barely respond. In the back of his mind, he knew he’d broken his arm and maybe pulled his back from the impact – he could feel the sharp ache radiating with each haggard intake of breath – but his pain was not important, not now.

He shook his head weakly and breathed out, “Not badly. Not like..”

A few yards away, the child was still crying, the sound shrill, despite its mother’s attempts to soothe it. The pounding of his head ratcheted up a few notches, and he winced, trying to turn away from it.

The officer still hadn’t removed his arm. Blue gaze piercing, he moved a little, trying to shield Dean’s view of Aidan’s body again. “Why don’t you let me take you over here and have my friend check you out?” He gestured to where another crew had arrived.

But Dean shook his head. “I.. I can’t,” he said, lamely. Because they were packing Aid up now, strapping him down with wide black buckles, and rushing him towards the ambulance.

Dean brushed past the officer, stumbling after the group, and it was only when he pleaded with the medics to come, that they let him ride up front. As the ambulance pulled away with its sirens blaring, he tried to look back to see what they were doing to his friend, but shooting pain spiked from his neck and up into his head. The movement stole his breath, and so he instead settled for staring out the front window.

“Adrenaline,” the medic who was driving said to him. Dean glanced over, brow pinched in confusion at what he was trying to say. The medic nodded pointedly at Dean’s lap.

Swallowing, he only then noticed how badly his hands were trembling. He took another shaky breath through his nose, and twisted his fingers together in a poor attempt to quell the tremors.

“Your friend... He has some serious injuries, but the doctors will take good care of him at the hospital.”

Dean had no words to reply, and instead clung the medic’s statement, even as the paramedic in back was shouting things to his partner that he didn’t understand. Something about broken ribs and depressed vitals, and how he better step on the gas.

The more Dean sat there, the colder he got, and the harder it became to breathe.

They pulled up in front of the ER, and Aidan’s gurney was pulled out and rushed down the hall, out of sight to a trauma bay within seconds. Driven by adrenaline and the need to stay alert for his friend's sake, Dean followed as best he could, forcing his body to behave and knees not to buckle. Just as he made it into the hallway though, the paramedic who’d driven grasped his arm from behind. The fingers wrapped easily around his entire bicep, digging in, holding him in place. Dean wobbled, startled by the sudden halt, and looked up at him with wide, bloodshot eyes.

“Hey, hey, stay here. You don’t need to see that, let them get your friend settled first,” the older medic said in a way meant to soothe.

“No, you don’t understand,” Dean’s voice was quivering. He blinked, trying to get his vision to stop spinning so badly. “I need to see him. I need to tell him that.. I.. that..”

“And you will see him, soon,” he reassured. “He’s being examined right now and as soon as the doctors look him over, they’ll come find you. Why don’t we get you looked at first?”

“But.. Aid..”

“Hey, Annie,” the medic called over to what appeared to be the nurses station. A tall, young woman startled from where she’d been looking through a chart, and looked over to them. “Can you come here a sec?”

“Jason,” she greeted the medic as she tucked away the folder and walked over. Sharp blue eyes took in Dean’s shocky demeanor, and her face morphed into something of concern. Her gaze glanced over to where Jason’s hand was firmly wrapped around the man’s arm. “What’s going on?”

“This here is Dean. He was involved in that MVA, his friend is in Trauma 1,” his words were carefully spoken, slow as if he was trying to get a point across without actually saying it. “He’s looking a little shocky."

Annie hummed in agreement. “Okay, Dean,” Her voice had taken on that same damn soothing tone that Jason'd had. “Why don’t we bring you into an exam room for a minute? Are you hurting anywhere?”

“I.. yes, but,” Dean almost whimpered in frustration. It was like the connection between his brain and his mouth had broken, and he was left without any semblance of discernible speech. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be anywhere but here. What if he missed an update on Aidan? And at the very crux of his worried heart, what if his friend didn't even make it? “He..”

“Aidan, I know,” Jason said. “I’m going to go check on Aidan now while you go in with Annie, okay pal?”

“Go, I got him from here,” Annie whispered. She replaced Jason’s hand with her own, concern nearly doubling when she realized how much of Dean’s weight she was holding up. Jason nodded and quickly went into the nearest trauma room, shouts from inside briefly echoing in the hallway until the doors closed once again.

“Wendy, can you come here a minute?” Annie asked, seeing her fellow nurse come out of the stock room. The woman’s face fell at the sight in front of her, and she hurried over.

“What happened?” Wendy immediately took Dean’s other side, and the two of them made their way towards an empty exam room.

“Car accident, he came in with the other trauma patient. Dean, honey, stand up, we’re almost there.”

Dean’s weight was sagging, and he swayed dangerously between them. Then, just before they reached the door, he crumpled.

“Shit, _shit_ , Dean?”

“Help! We need some help over here!”

With the worsening weather conditions and it being a Friday night, the Wellington ER was well-stocked with trauma surgeons and nurses. Annie's shouts carried easily through the corridors, and within seconds, they were surrounded by half a dozen of their capable colleauges.

“What happened?” Doctor Mat Eddinger, a large, balding man in a lab coat knelt next to the patient and immediately went in for a carotid pulse. The skin under his fingertips was cool and clammy, and the pulse fluttered rapidly.

“C’mon Dean, you with me?” Wendy tapped Dean’s cheek, but he’d already slipped into unconsciousness, eyes rolled back into his head.

“He was in a MVA, we don’t know any details. His friend is in Trauma 1.”

“He’s shocky.”

Another physician pulled a stethoscope into his ears. “Get a gurney, I want him in a trauma room!”

“Dean, can you hear me?”

“No no _no_ stop, don’t move him!” A young nurse suddenly shouted. Dean’s shirt had gathered up to his belly in his sudden descent to the ground. Dark purpling skin could be seen just under the hem, and then she was using scissors to cut up the middle of his top, desperate to get underneath and see the full extent of the damage.

The second the fabric fell open huge, mottled bruising came into view, wrapping from under his back to his right flank. There was only a slight moment of stunned silence, and then the lead physician was shouting, “Get a backboard!"

____________________

 

“Good job, Aidan. We’re going to keep you on that oxygen for a while until your saturations return to a normal range. Are you feeling more comfortable with that pain medication yet?" 

Dark eyes were glazed over from the powerful narcotics, and Aidan nodded slowly. He was completely limp now, exhausted from the meds and also from the emotional toll of being extubated, and poked and prodded.

“Excellent,” Doctor Kelly Ingraham said as he patted his arm. “Mike here is going to get you a little more comfortable, and then we’ll be bringing you up to the floor so you can get some rest, okay?”

A young nurses’ assistant reattached Aidan’s gown from where it had been ripped away during his chest tube insertion, and then covered him in a heavy blanket. He pulled up the railings of the gurney and unlocked the brakes, getting him ready for transport to the Med/Surg floor.

Aidan swallowed beneath the oxygen mask, and then slurred, “D’n?”

“Dean?” Doctor Ingraham asked. “Who’s Dean?”

“M'frien',” he said. It was clear Aidan was fighting the pull of sleep from the narcotics; his eyes closed in a slow blink, and it looked to be a huge effort to reopen them again. “In.. accident.”

At that moment, the trauma doors opened, and Jason entered, a paramedic that was a familiar face around the ER.

“Hey, doc,” Jason said in greeting. “How’s our boy doing? Not causing any problems, I hope.”

“Nah,” Aidan huffed with a slow smirk. “D’n?”

“No problems at all," Ingraham answered the medic. "Aidan’s doing much better. I expect a full recovery once we get his lung contusion resolved. Is Dean in the waiting area?” At Jason’s nod, he said, “Great. Aidan, I’ll go give him an update, and then we’ll meet you upstairs. How's that sound?”

The elder physician left Trauma 1, confident that his newest patient was finally stable and would be comfortably settled upstairs where he could begin his recovery. The young man was lucky, considering the circumstances surrounding his injuries. Though it had taken time to get Aidan stabilized – especially given the nature of his concussion, broken ribs, and temperamental vital signs – they had finally found the right cocktail of pressure stabilizing drugs and desperately needed fluids.

Discarding his bloody gown and gloves, the doctor stepped into the hallway and took a moment to wash his hands and collect his breath. It was only then that he heard the familiar sound of organized chaos at the other end of the L-shaped hallway, and he frowned, ears astute. As one of the more experienced physicians on shift, he only took a second to react, and then he was charging towards the scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to this one. Please drop me a comment. Your feedback is what keeps me motivated to write even when writers block rears its ugly head!
> 
> If you're so inclined, I'd also love to hear what fandom you'd like to read next. Interest has been fluctuating with each fandom (I think Hobbit has been the most popular, followed by RPF, then TAJ), so I'll tend to stick with the fandom that has the most interest. I have plenty of great prompts to go off of.. But would like to choose based on your preference. This chapter was ALMOST written as a Dean/Richard pairing (I love their dynamic), but I changed it at the last second. So if you're interested in other pairings, I'd love to hear that as well.


	11. G is for Guilt (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. I'm blown away by your comments. At a time when I was doubting my writing, you swooped in and gave me the reassurance I needed :o) So thank you to my new commenters, as well as those who always drop in to say hi: **FiliKiliThorinForever, ThornyHedge, Mee, Silva_13, FiliKiliRp, rashisama, Anankastic_Eosphoros, Im_a_huge_fan_of_coffee, Firebirdever, MatildaJohnson, waterlilyblue, Monsters_missus, mosslover, and kenporusty**.
> 
>  
> 
> The ending of this chapter is giving me a hard time. I decided to break this chapter into two to give you an update while I sorted it out. Medical whump in this chapter, and next chapter will have more Aidan and Dean whump with a side dish of fluff (I think they need it after this).

Richard couldn’t wait any longer, and they all knew it. The drive to the hospital was filled with an apprehensive silence, which was only further exacerbated by rush-hour traffic that slowed them down considerably. It had been Adam who'd initially received the call from Lex, who just before had been radioed by his fellow medic friends that’d been dispatched to the scene of the accident. Then, it had been a mad rush from where they’d only just arrived at dinner, to the nearest Wellington hospital.

Thankfully, instead of pulling into the busy parking garage Jimmy drove straight up to the ER entrance, giving a sharp nod to the Brit. “Go get an update,” he said. “We’ll meet you inside as soon as we park.”

Richard acknowledged him gratefully and then made his way through the sliding glass doors. But as soon as he reached the reception desk, a frazzled-looking woman in scrubs approached him, hands up in a gesture to move him back.

“Sir, there’s a situation going on over here, I’m going to have to ask you to wait in our other waiting area.”

Richard shook his head. “My friends, they were in an accident.. I just need to see..” But his own voice suddenly froze, eyes having caught movement at the far end of the hallway.

Because it was impossible not to recognize the curly brown hair and petite figure that was laying there on the tiles –

 _Dean_.

“What?” Richard felt his knees give, shock suddenly taking hold at the sight in front of him. Dean wasn’t moving, his entire right torso bathed in black bruises – medical personnel swarmed his body, lifting him easily onto a stretcher, and then they were _running_. Barely having time to recover, he pushed passed the nurse and raced after them, where Dean was rushed into an adjacent trauma room. The staff wasted no time in transferring him from stretcher to gurney, cutting off the remainder of his clothes, and attaching leads to his bare chest. Dean’s sudden complete exposure and the dark, patchy bruises along his skin left Richard feeling dizzy, and he sank against the wall.

“Someone get some vital signs, please,” Doctor Ingraham demanded. “Do we know what happened here?”

A young nurse, tall with sharp eyes, looked up from where she was removing Dean’s shoes and socks. “He came in with the other trauma patient. We were just getting him to an exam room when he collapsed.”

“There’s a lot of bruising here!” Another nurse commented as he palpated his patient’s torso. “Ribs are stable… belly’s soft, no rigidity... Pelvis stable.”

“Vitals are good. Blood pressure is a little low, 90/50.”

Doctor Ingraham frowned as he listened to Dean’s heart with his stethoscope. Though he was slightly tachycardic, his vitals were still within acceptable ranges, and they didn’t explain his patient’s sudden loss of consciousness. “Any obvious head trauma?”

His fellow physician, Mat Eddinger, gently ran his gloved hands through Dean’s hair, and then raised his eyelids, peering into them with a penlight. “Pupils are equal and reactive. He’s got a minor laceration and swelling in the right temporal region. I’m not feeling any depressions.”

“Alright, let’s flip him, I want to do a quick check of his spine.”

The staff gathered as one, pausing any movements to surround Dean’s flaccid body. Lined along his head and neck, torso and pelvis, and lower legs and feet, they turned him in a log roll on the count of three, cautiously keeping him aligned.

It was the change in position that raised Dean’s blood pressure just enough for him to return to an excruciating consciousness. Eyes fluttering, all he could see was the dark blue of scrubs and many gloved hands, but just by chance, he found a figure leaning against the wall. _Richard?_

Richard was hunched over, hands on his knees, panting like he’d been kicked in the gut.

He licked his dry lips, finding it near impossible to find his voice. The sudden, painful wakening was terrifying. His body was locked into place by many sets of hands, rubbery-slick hands that he didn't recognize, and in what felt like could only be his last defense, he  _wrenched_ forward, trying to twist away, but they held him in place with a strength that was unmatched. A low keening noise left his throat, and in the next second his breath came in a strangled gasp, “ _R-rich_.”

“Dean!”

“Dean, listen to me, stay down. Relax. _Relax_!”

“Hey!” Doctor Ingraham’s authoritative voice boomed through the room, enough to startle Dean into submission, “Easy! Dean, lay still. Do not move right now.”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut as pain so breathtakingly intense shot through his injured back. “No,” he moaned, and then pleaded, “Rrrr.. ch?”

With every bit of strength left in him, he lifted his hand from the backboard and stretched it forward towards the figure against the wall. Another choked cry tore from his throat and then Richard was stumbling forward despite the staff’s surprised protests that he’d entered the room.

“Sir, you can’t be in here – ”

“Hey – ”

But he pushed passed the nurses to bend next to his friend, hovering right near his face, an ache in his chest suddenly sharp and stabbing. For a second he didn’t know what to do.. where to touch him or how to help. No longer at a distance, he could clearly see the damage from the wreck; Dean’s eyes were unfocused, the side of his head matted in blood that turned his curls to dark maroon. Stripped of his clothes, his friend was pale, covered in bruises and small lacerations, but the worst of it centered on his flank. There, the hematoma was _black_ , the skin swollen.

Dean was shivering hard, whether from the coldness of the room or his injuries and shock, he wasn’t sure.

_Oh Dean…_

“I’m here,” steeling himself, Richard raised a hand to Dean’s face. “Right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

“..Rich.. help..” One Richard suddenly morphed in two swirling Richards, and Dean brought up his hand, clawing for the one closest to him, feeling even more panicked when he only grasped air. He swallowed convulsively. “O-out, out.. get me.. out..”

“Almost done, Dean,” Ingraham said loudly from where he stood behind his patient. Strong fingers palpated from the blond’s skull, down his neck and back and then all the way to his coccyx, paying particular attention to the severely bruised low-thoracic area. “There’s a lot of bruising here. I’m feeling tenderness at C6… and T12 and L1.”

“Page radiology, I want a skull, full spine and chest x-rays. And book a CAT scan!”

Richard still couldn’t begin to comprehend what was happening in front of him, but at the gentle hand on his arm from the nurse and her guidance, he nodded and leaned down further. With shaking hands, he thumbed away Dean’s tears, running a hand through his wild curls.

“Shhsh,” he murmured encouragingly. “They’re almost done. It will be over in a minute, it’s okay.. I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

“Someone get 5 of morphine on board.”

“Dean, can you feel this?” Doctor Eddinger had moved to hold Dean’s bare feet, performing what looking to be a reflex test. Starting at his heel, he dragged a hammer across the sole. In response to the stimulation, his toes slowly flexed and then relaxed. When Dean didn’t immediately respond, he said more sharply, “ _Dean_ , can you feel this?”

“What?.. I.. _Rrich?_..”

Eddinger looked sharply over to his colleague. “Exam shows weakness in his lower extremities, and I’ve got diminished reflexes.”

“Alright, get him ready for CT! I want him gone the second x-rays are done.”

The moment they transitioned Dean onto his back again, he lost consciousness, and the young nurse was pushing Richard out of the room to make room for the x-ray technicians, who were wheeling in huge pieces of equipment.

“Let me bring you to the waiting area, I’ll have Doctor Ingraham come see you with an update once we have a better idea of what’s going on.”

Jimmy and Adam were pacing anxiously at the nurses’ station, but they stopped the second they saw Richard’s face as he approached them. His face was white.

“What’s going on? How are they?”

Lost for words, he merely shook his head and slumped into the nearest waiting room chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please drop me a comment.
> 
> Thank you to those who gave feedback about what fandoms they'd like to see next. It seems like the majority of you enjoy RPF, which is great because I have a ton of great prompts to go off of. Of course, I have some fun Hobbit ones drafted, too. Hmm.. so hard to choose who to whump.. 0:-)


	12. G is for Guilt (Part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience while I got this chapter out. And a huge thank you to those who comment.. I wouldn't be updating without you all! **Mee, ThornyHedge, Anankastic_Eosphoros, FiliKiliRp, MatildaJohnson, waterlilyblue, Firebirdever, Monsters_missus, Silva_13, FiliKiliThorinForever, bammes, kenporusty, Chris, and qwikshot16** your words are so appreciated! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy more plotless whump!

They all sat silent and still, waiting for change. It had been two hours since Richard had left Dean’s side. Two hours since they were permitted into Aidan’s room on the Intermediate Care Unit. Two hours listening to the rhythmic heart monitor and to the soft bubbling of his chest tube as free air left his damaged chest cavity. Two very long hours of watching the nurses monitor Aidan closely, and waiting for their friend to wake.

Finally, he did.

Aidan’s rise to consciousness was unhurried. He felt heavy, like his limbs were leaden; even if he had the desire to move, he wasn’t sure he could. Parched, he swallowed dryly, and only when his chapped lips opened to take in a deep breath, did he start to hear noises. They filtered in gradually at first, muffled, like he was only just surfacing from deep under water, but soon he could make out the words.

Sluggishly, his eyes open as he returned to full consciousness. Three hazy forms eventually focused into Richard, Adam, and Jimmy; they were all looking down at him, faces set in cautious relief.

“Hey, there,” Richard gripped his shoulder, rubbing the exposed skin there with his thumb. His voice had cracked with emotion, and he looked anxious, posture screaming exhaustion. “Good to see you finally awake. How’re you feeling?”

“Hey,” he said. He felt his face scrunch against the pain of broken ribs and bruises and something pinched horribly in his side.

“You’ve got a chest tube in,” Jimmy said, seeing his discomfort.

Aidan winced and shifted against his pillow. “It feels.. weird.”

“Do you need anything for pain? The nurses said we can call if you needed something extra.”

Aidan shrugged slowly. “Nah.” Swallowing again, the dryness in his throat suddenly had him coughing. Richard immediately went for the cup of water on the bedside table, and gently, he pushed aside the oxygen mask, sensing his friend was too weak to do it himself.

The Irishman took the straw and sucked, savoring the ice water. However, he frowned at Richard’s trembling fingers, and it was only then that he pulled back, looking around. His sluggish, drugged mind finally made the connection that someone very important was missing. “Have you seen.. Dean?.. He,” he started to wheeze, so Richard replaced the mask, fitting it snugly to his mouth. “He.. They said he was in.. the waiting room.”

“Easy, don't strain yourself, you only just woke. Do you need to get more comfortable?” Richard asked, putting the cup back down. His chest was tightening at the thought of what he’d seen downstairs, and so he found himself unintentionally stalling the conversation. How on earth was he going to tell Aidan how badly Dean was injured, when he’d only just returned to consciousness himself?

Grabbing a pillow from the windowsill, he eased it behind Aidan’s back, helping to get him more comfortable on the bed. “How’s that?”

“Fine… Rich?”

Adam was looking more and more stressed from where he was standing by the foot of the bed, and Jimmy hadn’t looked that serious since a few months back, when his mother had fallen badly ill. The pit of Aidan’s stomach churned and it had nothing to do with his concussion or the pain medication.

“ _Rich_? Tell me,” Aidan repeated. He was just about to push himself up from the mattress when there was a gentle knock on the door. It was Doctor Ingraham, the physician he recognized who’d treated him in the A &E, but the man was looking drastically more harried this time around. “Doc.”

“Mr. Turner,” the physician walked slowly into the room, nodding at the others in greeting. By the tension in the room, it was clear to him the conversation that he’d just walked into, and so his gaze lingered a little big longer on Richard’s, acknowledging the bystander who’d helped in the trauma room. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Aidan clipped. “What’s going.. on?”

The telemetry machine was betraying his stress as the beeping grew steadily quicker. Ingraham glanced at the display and then put up a hand, calming him. “Take a few deep breaths, Aidan. We’ve only just gotten you stable and I don’t want any complications arising from this stress. Got it? Now lay back and I’ll give you an update on your friend, because Dean will be okay.”

“What?” Body tense from growing alarm, Aidan forced himself back into the pillows at the physician’s request. Above him though, his friends looked very serious, and Aidan’s shock only increased. “Update?.. Update on what?.. Doc.. where’s Dean?”

Ingraham studied him as he slowly spoke, choosing his words carefully, “Your friend collapsed in the waiting room a few hours ago. His injuries were – _Aidan_!”

Aidan’s face had dropped and he literally stopped breathing, looking as if he was about to jump out of the bed regardless of how many wires and tubes he was connected to. “What? .. God.. Is he.. okay? _Fuck_ ,” he gasped in between puffs of breath.

“Listen to me, and listen to me closely, understand? I will not continue this conversation if it means risking your health. I know how important he is to you, but you are still my patient, and a very sick patient at that. Do not tempt me into sedating you.” Blue eyes were hard, daring Aidan to move any further. The physician’s brow was pulled in a tight wrinkle though, betraying the harsh words for unquestionable worry.

Nervously, Aidan settled. Still, he did not feel any less anxious, even when Richard sat on the edge of the bed, taking his hand within his own.

“We brought him in to be examined and found injuries he’d somehow managed to hide from the accident,” the doctor continued after a moment. “X-rays and a CT scan confirmed he has what’s called a wedge fracture on two of his lower vertebrae. The fractures are stable – there’s no obvious cord damage, just a lot of swelling. We’ve placed him in a temporary back brace so he can heal without compromising his spine, and also casted a break in his arm.”

“God,” Aidan huffed, paling.

“He has a concussion, minor whiplash, a minor kidney injury and some extensive bruising, but everything will heal on its own with plenty of rest.”

Suddenly nauseous, the Irishman closed his eyes. A cold sweat broke out, wetting the collar of his gown, and he moaned in distress. “I don’t remember.” Earlier, the rush of pain from his broken ribs and bruised body masked any wondering thought as to why he might be lying in a hospital bed. It hadn’t seemed important at the time, and yet now, that reason haunted him to his very core. “I don’t … remember. We.. we were going to.. dinner.”

A warm palm smoothed back his hair. The gesture was gentle, soothing, and Aidan leaned into Richard’s touch. “Yes, you were on your way to dinner,” he softly explained. “You’d almost reached the city when you were hit head-on.”

It was only as Richard spoke that his mind offered a flash of what had happened earlier that night: _Dean’s face, shadowed by the dim interior lighting of his car and the setting sun... As they passed under a streetlight, the warm yellow glow caught the hollows of his cheeks as his mouth gaped slightly in what could only be shock_ –

“Fuck,” it took every strand of his being to not vomit in that moment, and he shakily brushed away a tear before it could fall.

Because he’d said _it_. In a moment of weakness he’d finally declared the most guarded secret he'd held to his best friend. And a part of him - an overwhelmingly huge part of him – knew he was responsible for the distraction; a distraction that very well could have played a part in the accident. Dean had been driving, for God’s sake! What had he expected? Celebration? To drive off happily into the sunset? Dean – beautiful, talented, damn-near-perfect Dean, was probably not even gay! He’d probably been revolted! Aidan could have cost them their lives... _And what of the other driver?_

“It’s common not to remember events leading up to an event like this, Aidan,” Doctor Ingraham said softly, his earlier callousness gone. “It’s part and parcel of your concussion and the shock you’ve experienced. You may remember in time, but some people never regain the time before these events.”

Richard looked worriedly down at his friend’s sudden silence. Taking the silence at face-level, he squeezed his hand. “He’s going to be okay, Aidan. You heard the doctor.”

“He is,” the physician confirmed. “All in all, he’s holding his own, but ..”

Noticing the slight pause, they all glanced up sharply. “But?”

“I’m concerned about how agitated he’s become since he’s regained consciousness. The head injury and medications we’ve given him have made him confused. The last decision I want to make right now is to sedate or restrain him, but he’s not leaving us much of a choice. He’s asking for you, Aidan.”

“For .. me?” Taken aback by his words, the young man’s voice was trembling with confusion. Still muffled by an oxygen mask, his tone was made to sound even more frail and small.

“Since you’re in a private room, I can arrange to have him moved here. Only if you are okay with it, Aidan. But my better judgment tells me this move will be good for the both of you.”

The prospect of Dean asking for him still had him stunned. “Please.”

Ingraham shoved his hands in his lab coat pockets, his severity suddenly returning. He studied his patient’s growing desperation, and went to swiftly calm him down. “But if I move him here, I need your word that you’ll remain put in this bed – and calm. You are to talk to him only, ground him. You’re still recovering yourself, Mr. Turner, and if you reinjure yourself and undo my hard work, there will be trouble.”

Aidan nodded meekly.

____________________

 

“Dean.”

Dazed green eyes peaked open just slightly. Instantly, there was a torque in his chest; panic wound tightly within him, there without reason, leaving him breathless, terrified. He whimpered.

“Easy, Dean,” Richard’s gruff voice came from his right, the tone soothing. There was a hint of weariness behind it, as if he’d said the same words many times before. “Easy, sweetheart. You’re in the hospital, and you’re safe. I know you probably feel like shit, but you’re going to be just fine.. Look here, look at me.. That’s it. Are you finally back with us?”

Dean stared at the older man for a handful of seconds, the vestiges of panic still coiled beneath the surface. He was having trouble connecting the dots and could already feel himself growing distressed.

“Dean.”

He blinked, halting his stuttering breaths when a familiar Irish accent floated somewhere from his left. Blowing out a long, shaky breath, he whispered, “Aid.”

“That’s it. Slow,” Richard coached him.

Dean looked tiredly up at the ceiling, a strange déjà vu washing over him like he’d already awoken several times in this very same position. The feeling made him uneasy, as did the odd way his limbs felt heavy and disconnected. He drew in a noisy breath and simultaneously tried to shift in the sheets, and that was when he felt _it_.

Or to be more exact, what he _didn’t_ feel. The hard plastic of a brace, strapped tight around his chest all the way to his low back – it trapped him, squeezed him into stillness. And the two limp limbs lying still below his pelvis were simply.. _there_.

 _Without feeling._  

He coughed out in stress, panting in a weird compensation to try to regain the oxygen that’d suddenly been sucked from his lungs. “My.. legs? No.”

“Don’t, Dean. Don’t! Listen to me, you’re okay,” Aidan cried desperately from his bed. He was just a second away from tossing back the blankets, tubes and wires be-damned, when the quick shuffling of feet announced Ingraham and a nurse’s arrival.

“Should we sedate him again?” The nurse asked, her hand already poised on his IV drip to deliver the sedative.

Ingraham shook his head, “Not yet. Dean? Breathe, Dean. Look at me, pal. My name is Doctor Ingraham, I treated you down in our trauma room. Do you remember me?”

Despite his alarmed wheezes, Dean managed to glance over at the silvery-haired doctor. Barely able to concentrate on his words, his face screwed up tightly; medication and panic easily thwarting his ability to think clearly and rationally.

“You have a fracture in your spine, but your spinal cord is intact. Listen to what I’m saying – you have a lot of swelling around your spine, and that pressure is affecting your ability to feel your legs.”

A cool, damp cloth was suddenly wiping along his face, neck, and then was placed on his forehead. He closed his eyes instinctively at the cooling relief.

“That’s it, Dean, calm down. Take a few deep breaths for me,” a large hand took his own, warm fingers touching the soft part of his wrist, where a heartbeat was barely beginning to stabilize. “Good. Keep listening to what I'm explaining to you. We’ve taken many tests, and they’ve come out promising. What you have is temporary until the swelling reduces. You’ve had a major trauma to your body, and what’s happening to you, that inflammation - it's natural. We have you on pain relievers and anti-inflammatories to help the process, which can take a couple of days, but you are going to walk out of this hospital on your own two feet, do you understand me?”

The room was silent besides the small man’s breaths that eventually grew even. After a few seconds, green eyes met the doctor’s and his chapped lips parted, “Ye-ah.. and.. Aid?”

Doctor Ingraham’s brow quirked at the simple question. Despite his own state, having successfully overcome another acute panic attack, it was clear Dean was now only thinking of his friend. The doctor managed a knowing smile. “And Aidan will walk out of his hospital, as well. You both need time to heal, but you will recover. Completely.”

“Where,” green eyes still pleaded, “where is he? Please.”

“Right here,” the physician nodded off to his far left. Then, “Kelly, want to help me with this?”

There were a few moments filled with the sounds of rustling furniture, and then the click of unlocked brakes. A second later, Aidan’s bed was rolled directly next to his, leaving a small distance in case someone had to squeeze in to attend them.

“Hey,” Aidan edged closer to the side of his mattress, winding his hand in between the bedrails, and Dean fumbled to catch his fingers.

“Aid? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he breathed, and grasped his friend’s fingers even tighter.

“You’re hurt?” Dean asked softly, staring pointedly at the oxygen mask. Sweat dotted his cheeks, caused by a mixture of lingering panic and sudden apprehension for Aidan.

But the Irishman shook his head. “No.”

Dean's brow furrowed and a second later he chuffed, “Liar.” Grimacing, he tried to shift in his bed, but was again held snugly in place by the plastic contraption around his torso.

“You both are hurt,” Ingraham said from above them. “But you both will be fine, eventually. And you’re both due for pain relief, so now is the time to get some rest and heal. Understand?”

Kelly adjusted both of her patient’s IV’s, dialing in a strong dose of pain relief for the both of them. Instantly, the tension eased on their faces, and she quirked a smile in satisfaction.

“Rest,” she repeated softly as her and the doctor left the room.

Under the influence of narcotics, Aidan sunk deeply into his pillow. He was left silently to his thoughts as the others settled in, and once again he was overwrought with a deep and unsettling feeling of shame for what he’d unintentionally caused. Enough so, that he weakly withdrew his tenuous hold from Dean’s hand.

“..Aid?” Came a soft question from beside him.

Aidan sucked in a breath of pure oxygen, and didn’t respond. His eyes fell shut just as the sound of heavy footsteps entered the room. He didn’t need to look to knew who the deep voice belonged to.

“Hey guys, how are you feeling?” It was Lex, their kindly set medic, and he quietly greeted the others in the room.

Again, he didn’t respond, quickly sinking into himself as the weight of his actions fully hit him.

“Aidan?” Small fingers searched his bed, brushing against his hip and belly as they searched for his hand, finally finding them where they’d curled in the sheets. “Aid..? What?”

The pull of narcotics was strong. It made him fuzzy, and he found himself shaking his head, sweaty curls twisted against the pillowcase. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What for?” Dean was pushing against the tug of sleep, too, and his voice was slurring from both fatigue and the intravenous medications.

“What I said,” Aidan was equally slurring now. “What I said.. I caused.. it.”

“.. What?” Dean asked, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“It was me. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

“Stop, Aid.. what..?” Dean barely had the strength to make sound, and he was obviously fighting the weight of sleep.

Then, there was a rustling of bedsheets, a moan, and next Richard’s voice, quietly far off to Aidan’s right. So quiet he could barely hear him, as if Rich was trying not to interrupt– “Stop, Dean. Lay still.”

“Aidan?” Lex was suddenly close to him; a heavy weight sat directly next to his hip on the bed. Tired eyes blinked tiredly open, and Aidan went to dismiss him, but he was quickly and efficiently shushed.

“You’ve got it all wrong, Aidan,” Lex said firmly. “This accident was not Dean’s fault, and it certainly was not your fault. I have access to the dispatch radio, my old partners were some of the first ones on scene. A young woman crossed the center line and hit you both head-on,” and he paused, as if deciding if this last piece of information would make any difference. “She’s been arrested for driving under the influence, and her child has been taken into protective services because this is not the first time it’s happened.”

The room fell silent as Aidan wearily took in each word.

“The accident could not have been avoided,” Lex continued. He patted Aidan’s arm to deliver his point. “Even if Dean had swerved, you’d have gone through the guardrail into the cliffside. So that’s enough with your misplaced guilt, my friend.”

Aidan was nearly asleep now despite his futile attempts to keep his eyes open. Still, he comprehended each word, and they soothed him, quieting the guilt until it simply fizzled away.

“Now, I’m going to go get some tea with your friends, and then we’ll be back. The only thing you need to be focusing on sleeping.”

As feet shuffled out the door, he felt Dean’s feeble grip try to get a better hold on his, and Aidan let him. Their fingers tangled, and this was simply all they needed to relax into the bedding.

"Not.. your fault.. Not.. mine," Dean's voice was whispered, muddled by exhaustion. "'kay?"

"Mm," Aidan finally agreed. Beneath the mask, his lips pulled into a tired smile. "'kay."

"You.. okay?"

"Yeah.... you?"

"Yeah..." Dean said, and then mumbled in afterthought, ".. you.. egg."

"Egg? You're the.. egg."

A tired giggle, "Takes one to know..one."

"Mature.. Deano."

Fingers twitched within his palm. "Go ta'sleep. ....talk.. 'morrow?.."

A second later, Aidan truly settled. He was utterly exhausted from the day’s events; only hours before he’d been pulled from the crushed vehicle, clinging to life, only to wake petrified in the A&E. Thankfully, his friends were keeping watch throughout the night, and he knew they were safe. And Dean's warm -  _alive -_ touch was the reassurance he needed in that moment to let go of his tension. They would finish their talk in the morning, when the pull of narcotics wasn’t as strong, and the shock of their injuries had dulled.

But now? Now they could rest and they could heal, because tomorrow would surely bring a better day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments feed the whump bunny.


	13. I is for Impact (Part 1)

**Some Notes** : Thank you to everyone who has stuck through with this whumpfest, especially to those who continue to comment. Your words are appreciated more than you know! **mosslover, ThornyHedge, FiliKiliRp, Faen, Blueskydancers, Silva_13, Anankastic_Eosphoros, FiliKiliThorinForever, kenporusty, TobyHansbmd, Monsters_missus, Mee, Firebirdever, waterlilyblue** you guys ROCK. I wouldn't be posting without you. And special thanks to FiliKiliThorinForever for the beta. Thanks, friend :o)

 

This installment is _**dedicated to SallyMcBride and kenporusty**_ who specifically requested more Varak. The little guy tugged on my heartstrings, too. Anyone looking for visualizations, I pictured our boy to look similar to  **[this](https://thegypsykitten.files.wordpress.com/2014/09/white-cub.jpg)** , although his eyes would be a cloudy, bluish-gray from blindness.

And anyone in the mood for more Fili angst, serious hurt/comfort, and family feels should check out **[The Golden Heart of Erebor](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5529164/chapters/12759596)** , which I've coauthored with FiliKiliThorinForever. We've got lots planned for our entire dwarven company... It will be a long journey, for sure :o) 

 

______________________________

 

“Sit. _Sit_ , Varak!”

Fili smirked. Despite the dull pain of being poked and prodded by their company’s healer, the prince still found humor in his brother’s poor attempts at training their newfound blind warg pup. Next to the fire and bare-chested, Oin’s careful fingers traced the healing wounds on his neck and torso, now nearly two weeks old. They were already beginning to scar, the flesh soft and pink with healing skin, but the healer remained astute in making sure the wounds showed no signs of budding infection.

 _Precautionary_ , he’d said. With the amount of time they spent running around in the forest, sleeping on dirt in sweaty clothes, it was best to keep an eye on things until the risk of infection returned to zero.

Thankfully, he was nearly there, and Oin continued to mumble how he was recovering beautifully. Bruises that were once black were now a jaundiced-green, and his broken ribs were mending so it hurt less and less at each passing day. He still found himself not quite at normal functionality, but Oin had assured him that though it would take time, he would get there.

“ _SIT!_ ”

Kili had healed, too. Not nearly as injured as his brother, the younger was back to his normal self within days, and much of his determination had come from the likeness he’d taken to the warg pup. The thing was nearly strapped to his side at all times, even whilst sleeping, and Kili prided in the fact that he’d become a surrogate mother of sorts.

Except when it came to training; Kili was clueless, and though it was amusing it watch, it was becoming painful the longer Kili went on.

“Looking much better, laddie,” Oin said in satisfaction as he handed his tunic back. “We’ll continue with the ointment at night to soothe your ribs, but the cuts have nearly healed completely. Come to me before you sleep and we’ll put the rub on again.”

Carefully tugging on his shirt, Fili nodded gratefully. “Thanks, Oin.”

He wasted no further time by the fire, instead choosing to make his way to the small clearing where his brother stood scowling, hands on his hips in a petulance he hadn’t seen in years.

“Having trouble, _Khâzash_?” he teased gently.

“The mutt won’t listen to ‘im. Go on, Kili, I think he almost understood you that last time!” Dwalin was laughing where he sat at the fire, helping Bombur prepare their supper.

Kili glared even harder. “If you call him a mutt one more time, I swear -”

“Kili,” Thorin warned, though a smirk played at the corner of his lip.

“But uncle!”

“Kili,” Fili made his way closer to the pair, within arms distance. He lowered his voice, knowing his brother was actually upset about what was happening. “He means no harm, Kee. C’mon, come here.”

He took his arm and pulled down until they both knelt in front of Varak. The warg was of modest size now, having more than doubled its size since becoming one of the company mere weeks ago. He no longer looked underdeveloped; where he was once thin and bony, he was now muscled. Born slightly deformed, he now looked more like one of the tame small dogs they’d seen in the Shire, compared to the grizzly wargs that the Orcs reproduced.

Though Varak was blind, his cloudy eyes were gazing up at them, following their voices. His head was tilted slightly in curiosity.

“He doesn’t know our language,” Fili continued. “You have to show him what you want. Watch. Varak, _sit_.”

At that word, he placed his hand on Varak’s bottom, pressing down until he sat on his haunches.

“Good boy,” he praised. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a small piece of bread, which he fed to the warg. Varak ate it greedily. “See? Do that a few more times and I’m sure he’ll get the hang of it.”

Next to him, Kili was beaming. “Thanks, Fee!”

Nightfall came gradually, and by the time their bellies were full from rabbit and soup, Var had learned _Sit_ and _Stay_ and _Come_. Though he was young, the warg was anything but stupid. He seemed to blossom under the attention Kili was giving it, and in just the few short hours of learning new tricks, his confidence had skyrocketed. Currently, he was giving Bofur kisses, and had even rolled onto his back for a belly rub.

“I guess you are a little cute,” Bofur murmured under his breath. “Don’t tell Kili though, it will go straight to his head.”

“Fili, Kili, go check on the ponies,” Thorin’s words held little room for argument, and the two quickly discarded their half-eaten supper to check the well-being of their mounts.

It was no more than five minutes later, when a fretting Bilbo went to find the brothers with newly filled bowls of soup, that he discovered his beloved Myrtle had disappeared.

______________________________

Curiosity got the better of Varak.

He noticed the subtle shift of atmosphere after a long moment of attention from one of the beings in his pack. Though the nice fingers still petted the space between his shoulders, he knew something was off. It only took a second or so to detect the problem, and in the next, he pulled away from the being to stand at full attention.

 _Kili’s_ distinct smell and voice were missing.

His master was gone.

Muzzle to the air, Varak breathed.

And… _there_ … to the west. Kili had moved to the west, was still within distance for the warg to smell him.

Single-minded now, Varak stuck his nose to the ground, moving forward at a quick clip, abandoning his pack without a further thought.

“Hey, _hey_! Var, _no_.”

“Ah, let ‘im go. He’s a warg, let ‘im roam a little.”

“Have you gone mad? He’s still a pup, Kili will have our heads if he disappears…”

The trail was fresh, easy to follow, but the forest floor itself was a maze of tangled bushes and large, woody downed branches. Still, Varak only stumbled on the breaching tree roots twice.

“…forgot your soup.”

“Hey, Bilbo… I think we may have a problem…”

 _There_.

 _Kili_.

Quickening his pace, he was at his master’s feet in moments. The familiar scent was soothing, and already, the pounding in his chest didn’t hurt so bad.

“Var? Hey, my _kurdu_ , what are you doing here all by yourself?” Thin, delicate fingers intertwined in the fur at his head, scratching behind his ears. He leaned further into his master’s leg, content.

“ – the ponies. Four are missing!” _Fili_ , he distantly recognized.

“ _Missing_? What do you mean ‘missing’?”

“Bungo and Daisy; we can’t find them. And Myrtle and Mindy, too!”

“But where could they have gone?”

Silence.

Then –

“Hey.. there’s a light.. Stay down!”

“What is it?”

“ … oh, no.”

“ _Trolls_.”

“Bilbo, go get uncle! Hurry!”

Suddenly, the sound of rustling ferns and thumping legs; one in the direction of his abandoned pack, and the other, further west.

His chest was pounding again.

“Var, _stay_! Stay here, understand?” Master. He would always obey master.

More thumping, and then it was silent. He was alone.

______________________________

 

In the very distance, there was a strange, deep grunting. Varak couldn’t even begin to question what was making the sound because in the next second, the quiet void was filled with screams.

 _Roars_ , more likely. Not of panic, but of rage. Amidst the cries he could hear his master – young, hard, angry. And in between those awful noises, metal hitting metal.. metal hitting flesh.

His pack was in battle.

Var huffed under his breath and pawed at the dirt, shifting his weight as if trying to decide if he should remain put or not.

 _Stay_ , his master had said.

But what if his master was in trouble?

Abruptly, before if he could further decide to stay or not, there was silence.

The warg tilted his head, pulling his ears back to listen closer. But the sounds of his pack were gone, and instead, only a strange, deep grumbling from what could only be a very very large beast. Whatever it was, it shook the ground as it moved; he could feel the ground trembling beneath the thick pads of his paws.

Time passed, an indefinite amount of it, and the more that did, the uneasier he felt. It didn’t help matters when a strong breeze rustled through the trees and ferns, carrying with it a scent of smoke, the scent of sweat... and _fear_.

He whined.

To betray his master would certainly mean punishment.

Again, the wind blew, howling, this time carrying a scent even stronger than the last. Now, his master's smell had almost faded, smothered by burning wood, a hint of coppery blood, and warming flesh.

Danger. His pack was in danger.

Var started forward uncertainly, paws hesitating in their steps across the mossy earth. But the farther he made it through the forest, the quicker his pace became, driven now entirely by fear and worry and thoughts solely of the wellbeing of his pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Khâzash_ \- brother  
>  _Kurdu_ \- heart  
>  _Varak_ \- loyal, loyalty
> 
>  
> 
> Comments feed the whump bunny.


	14. I is for Impact (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to **Silva_13, FiliKiliThorinForever, TobyHansbmd, Mee, waterlilyblue, FiliKiliRp, ThornyHedge and Anankastic_Eosphoros** for your comments. I wouldn't be continuing this series without your support.

The scent of the air changed when a breeze whistled through the trees, and in the next moment, Varak could hear it.

Crackling.

Leaves on the forest floor crinkled and dry grass whispered as something moved closer to him. The steps were moving forward with surety, closer and closer, though much slower than the painful thudding in his chest. Varak froze, and instinctively he lowered, belly caressing the thick undergrowth. He couldn’t see, but his other senses were sharply intact,  _and something just wasn’t right_. Ears pulled back to his head, lips snarled, and hair rose in warning. The scent of the being that approached him smelt distantly familiar, but caught in his own trembling fear, he couldn’t place it.

“Varak, my dear boy, what are you doing in these parts all by yourself?”

Varak lifted his snout, sniffing in short bursts; the creature smelt like sweet pipe weed and horsehair, and his aura thrummed with a distinct energy.

Magic.

He knew the being. Master had once told him it was a friend.

 _Gandalf_.

“Easy. That’s it, you remember me, don’t you?” the air shifted as the being reached towards him. Gandalf exuded calm and wisdom, and Var’s fear was suddenly soothed and shelved away. A huge hand – thin and ridged with wrinkles but powerful all the same – passed gently across his neck, down his back, easing his hackles. “Now, you must be looking for you friends, am I right?”

 _Yes_.

Varak whined low in his throat. Threat stifled, the mention of his pack in danger hit him deep in his belly; he wanted his master and he couldn’t find him and he knew something was terribly  _bad_.

“You’re right, dear boy, they’ve found themselves in trouble. But not to worry; come with me, and we can rescue these dear fools.”

_____________________________

They reached his pack quickly. It almost hurt Varak’s nose when he sniffed now; wherever they were, the air was pungent with thick smoke and tangy sweat and blood… Whatever his pack had hunted was here, too. And it wasn’t just one creature, there were  _multiple_ , and they were angry,  _huge_. The noise they made was coming from high above him, and they must have been as tall as some of the rocks and rolling hills he’d climbed. With each step the ground trembled.

A touch on his shoulder, and then the wizard was leading him closer. The heat of a fire was palpable.

He twitched his nose, smelling. His masters were close.

“Sit,” Gandalf said softly to him. “Wait here. Do not make a sound. Do not move from this spot. I’ll take care of your friends, do not worry.”

His ears twitched, moving forward to listen as Gandalf was suddenly gone. Then, in the silence that followed,  _he heard it_ –

In between the grunting and groaning of the giant creatures –  _his master!_

“He’s not moving, why isn’t he moving?” Kili was whispering frantically.

There was something about the tone of his voice that had Var’s hair standing up; Kili was upset.

“Hush, Kili!”  _Thorin_. “Do not draw attention.”

Thorin was much closer to him than his master. In fact, maybe only the distance of himself, nose-to-tail, threefold.

“Fili. Fili, wake up. Answer me!”

Rustling. Writhing. The sound of cloth twisting and rubbing against the earth. His pack was trapped, he instinctively knew this. That must have been why they weren’t fighting back and sounded so low to the ground.

“Please, Fili!”

One of the giant creatures stopped its nonsensical grunting. Silence split the air for just a second, then, “What are you going on about?”

Another deep grumble. “It’s upset!” The thing was laughing and Varak’s whiskers involuntarily slicked back into a snarl as he listened. “Look how funny it looks!”

“Why are you so sad, creature? Did we knock your friend too hard?”

“Yes!” The giant was laughing again. “Look at him. He’s taking a little nap. That one will be easy to cook, it won’t be squirming!”

“Should we start with him? The others are taking too long. Let’s put him right in the fire, roast him! I want to try it crispy!”

Alarm. Distress. Varak had never felt this feeling before. Something rushed through him, painful. His heart was beating too fast, thudding against the bones in his chest. His breathing was quick, hard. His stomach hurt; it was hollow and kind of sick, and distantly, he didn’t know if he could ever feel hungry again. He didn’t know what these feelings meant, they were foreign and distressing, and involuntarily, a strangled noise left his throat. It didn't occur to him until just after that Gandalf had told him to be quiet, and then he was whining again as he realized what he'd just done.  _He'd been told to stay quiet._ He didn’t want to be punished. He just wanted his masters, and his masters were hurt, and  _he didn’t know what to do_.

Nearby, there was a gasp. Movement stilled. Then, while Kili was screaming at the creatures and the hobbit was bumbling in similar sort-of panic, he heard Thorin’s voice. He sounded stunned. “Var?”

Another murmuring, and he recognized the voice a little further off than Thorin. “Varak? Is that him?”  _Nori_.

“By my beard, it is,”  _Dwalin,_ eager. “Come here, boy. Come here. Get us out of these bindings.”

“ _What_?” Thorin sounded mad. Very mad, enough to send him cowering if the wizard hadn't said  _stay still_. “ _No_. Stay. Do not come here,” then, “are you mad? They’ll kill him!”

“He’s our only chance!”

Despite their hushed conversation, Varak could still hear Kili screeching just beyond Thorin. The feeling in his chest physically hurt, and he shifted his weight on each paw in growing unease. He’d been told to stay. He’d been told to stay and he couldn’t disobey those orders, he’d be punished!

“Don’t you touch him! Don't touch Fili!” His master was furious but his breathing hitched and whined and he was gasping in between.. sobs?

“Get ‘im, Bert. Hurry up, I’m starvin’. He looks to be a fine supper!”

Something changed in the next second.

The tone to his master’s voice took on a whole new level of distress as the giant creature thumped close. “Don’t you touch him! Don’t you dare! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! DON’T! FILI!”

Varak moved. Without any semblance of forward thought, he pounced, nails digging into the earth, pushing him forward as fast as his body could go. He tripped over legs, chests, sacks, clawing his way to the direction he knew the creature was reaching for his other master.

Sound reached his ears: a small roar, like that of a squealing pig. Saliva leaked from his lips, twirling in strands from his widened jaw as he snarled. Canines sharp, ready to pierce --

He crashed into the creature, with enough force that momentarily dazed him. His body crunched forward under the force, but he found his composure a split second later, and he sunk his teeth hard into rancid flesh. The creature gasped in shock, hesitating from where it had been leaning down to grab Fili, and then the giant pulled back, flinging him... But Varak’s jaw was locked and he hung doggedly with every ounce of strength that he had, grinding deeper, until suddenly the creature yelped as something burst into his mouth – tangy and hot; blood.

Suddenly heard the wizard; Gandalf was shouting, deep from within, enough to send a tremble through his own body. Then, a thunderous crack and the earth itself rumbled.

The giant creature within his grasp wheezed, the sound almost piteous, and then the flesh in his mouth turned hard and still. Var waited just a second, terribly confused at the unexpected quiet and stillness, and then he dropped to the ground. The creatures, he knew instinctually, were no more.

The silence only lasted a second.

“Get us off the fire! Please! It’s hot!” Yelling, from a distance. The voices were scared. He could still smell warmed flesh.

“Hold on, hold on.”

“Fili! Fili!” Kili was louder now, and his voice was quivering. “Speak to me! What’s  _wrong_ with him?”

“It must have been when he was thrown. I saw the big one toss him into the trees, but I lost sight of him just as quickly.”  _Dori_.

Varak hunched over. Too much was happening, too much was  _wrong_ , and he’d already been bad, so very bad for moving. He needed to be good. He needed to stay still. He couldn’t make a sound.

Something large hit the ground, and then there was the frantic  _slick slick_  of slicing thick rope. His pack was murmuring, hurried, and then they were scrambling, as if they’d been freed.

“Get me untied! Get me out of this thing!” his master was making wet noises. “Fee!”

More shuffling. Clothes rumpling, tossed aside, hitting the dried jungle floor.

“Mahal, he’s bleeding.”

“Get him out of this sack. Hurry.”

“Fili, talk to me, laddie. Can you hear me?”

“Aulë, it’s his chest. Look at his bones, they’ve rebroken.”

“Is he breathing?”

“ _Fili_ , please!”

“He’s breathing.”

“We need to get him back to our site. I can treat him there best.”

“Give him to me.”

His master was whimpering, pleading. The noise reminded him of something that had happened  _before_ he’d found his pack. Var was much too young to remember, but he remembered Kili’s sounds.

They scared him.

“Varak,  _come_!” Master, shouting, at a distance.

There was no hesitation behind his steps after that. Var took off, brushing passed one of the fat ones, scurrying in his panic to keep up with his pack. He didn’t slow even when his paws touched hot ash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like it warrants a mention that in no way, shape, or form is Varak ever "punished" or abused by the company. He is naturally submissive. Many of these types of dogs lack confidence, are extra sensitive, and/or show deference behaviors (classic passive submission - tail tucked, "belly up", etc) when they feel threatened or feel like they've done something wrong. My own shih-tzu is a classic example of a submissive dog, and I take better care of her than myself.. it does not always reflect prior negative experiences, sometimes it's just in their nature.
> 
>  
> 
> Comments feed the whump bunny. 
> 
> Next chapter is Kili's POV, and it's almost completed. Maybe if I hear from enough of you the bunny will finish quicker than planned. :o)


	15. I is for Impact (Part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience. This chapter had a last minute overhaul, but I'm more satisfied with it than I was before.
> 
> To those who commented, you're the best! **ThornyHedge, Faen, FiliKiliRp, mjeanuniverse, TobyHansbmd, waterlilyblue, Filigirl237, kenporusty, Monsters_missus, Mee, and FiliKiliThorinForever** thank you all! 
> 
> And FKTF, thank you for the beta and great suggestions!

Sometimes it scared Kili the depth of anger he saw in his brother. In moments like this, as Fili charged headlong into a battle with the trolls, dual swords drawn, eyes wide in gaping hunger, Kili could quite literally feel it flowing off him in swells. The thing was tangible, and the younger of the two realized as he ran right beside him, that it was actually frightening in its enormity. The fire from the troll's camp had shadowed parts of the blond's face, light only catching the hard edges of his cheeks, and he looked nothing like himself.

The glimpses of _that_ Fili were few and far between, but he could never place where it came from. Whether it be after bar fight or after battle, Fili would slip back into the quiet and goodnatured dwarf that others knew him to be, and Kili had always been left reeling in wonder.

Only now, as he ran stumbling after Dwalin, thoughts askew in a volatile sort of panic, that he made the connection that his brother only turned like this when he came to the defense of _him_.

Kill couldn’t remember the exact moment Fili was hurt. He'd scrambled to think of the very incident that caused his brother’s unconsciousness, but he came up blank; his own attention had been so wrapped up in the felling of the trolls, that he’d somehow missed something so huge. It was only when they’d been tied in their sacks that he’d noticed the lack of movement coming from his brother. Towards his feet, Fili had been lying face down in the dirt. The glow of the fire had danced softly over his body, and light that had once made him look so cruel now babied his features, softened his curves.

“Fili!” he’d whispered in his growing panic. At one point, he’d managed to nudge his brother and the light had caught Fili’s hair in such a way that he could see braids askew and some parts matted with a dark wetness.

Unresponsive and silent, that was when Kili had panicked. The prince could face trolls, he could fight insurmountable battles, and he knew he could accept death if it meant the survival of his kin.

He could not face this.

Not again.

Now, as they raced towards their campsite, Fili was still and pliant in Dwalin’s arms. His arm flapped in fluid movements with every bounce, every jump, every stumble. His head had fallen back, neck arched and exposed. The lack of movement was just as terrifying as his silence; Kili was distinctly aware that a hit hard enough to knock a dwarf unconscious, _to knock out his brother_ , was dangerous in and of itself.

At last, they broke into the familiar clearing and Dwalin worked quickly to get the bundle in his grasp settled onto the first bedroll he reached. It happened to be Thorin’s, and rapidly, the dark fur beneath his head grew wet and clumped from blood.

“Fili,” Kili was breathless and felt lost for words as he crashed to his knees. “No, Fili.. please.. wake up.”

“Stoke the fire! And warm a pot of water, quickly. Move, Kili,” Oin snapped as he all but shoved the young prince aside. His own heart quickened when he focused closer on the older of the two, and without regard to getting his own hands covered in the wet and slippery substance, he parted Fili’s matted hair. As the fire sparked to life next to him, he took in every minute detail, beginning to see the worst of the trauma. The wound at the top of his hairline was decent-sized, deep and bleeding heavily; this would need tending before his chest could even begin to be examined. “Find my bag, and hand me clean cloth, thread, and my needle.”

“Fili,” Kili pleaded, as he crawled back next to his brother. “Why is he not awake?”

Thorin fell to his knees opposite of him. He was just as silent as his nephew for a few long moments, then, he took Fili’s hand within his own and raised his gaze, eyes black and piercing as he watched their healer’s movements. “Oin?” the word was edged in demand, and thinly.. that of uncertainty.

“Here,” Nori clipped as he shoved the requested bag and items within Oin’s eyesight.

With skilled fingers, Oin continued to probe and examine the gash, and then satisfied, he pressed a cloth to it, hard, staunching the blood flow. In a low voice he muttered, “this will need stitching. Aulë Fili, you never do much by halves, do you?” he turned and demanded over his shoulder, “is the water warmed?”

“Yes, yes, coming,” Ori said as he scurried over with the pot. “It’s warm.”

“Good,” he murmured. Using another cloth, he dunked it and used the material to wipe away what he could of the clotted mess. He paused though, seeing a large knot had already swelled from the force of impact, pushing the gash even wider apart. Quick and nimble fingers pressed at the wound again, and then around it, and a rush of relief flooded through him to find Fili’s skull was still intact. He gently thumbed each eyelid open, noting that although the boy's eyes were sightless, they were normal and unaffected by the blow.

_It was a blessing he was unconscious_ , Oin thought distractedly to himself. It kept him from inevitable pain as he cleaned the wound one last time and carefully stitched it together, tying the swollen and clearly sensitive separated flesh together with his thick black thread. Just as he knotted the last stitch, he caught hurried movement in his periphery; leaning back some (his nose was just centimeters away from the wound in his concentration), he saw Kili hunched close, eyes trained and pleading at his brother’s face, and then he could see why:

Fili’s eyes had opened in slits, glassy, but trying to focus.

“Fili, _khâzash_ , hey, hey, look at me,” Kili was saying. “Can you hear me?”

Thorin leaned closer too, the bridge between his eyes pinching. His thumb rubbed slow circles over the back of Fili’s hand, and at the same time he was ready to brace him, should he begin to move unexpectedly.

Oin studied the dwarf, waiting for any sign of recognition to emerge. When that didn’t come, he prompted for it himself. “Are you with us, laddie? Talk to me.”

Half-conscious, a small sound bubbled from Fili's throat. Through his lashes, all he could see were blurred images, each figure partially glowing from a light that flickered orange and yellow. He knew not where he was or what brought him in this position; he was held in this vague state of consciousness for a very long time, unable to do more than _be_. It was comfortable and quiet and painless. However, as time passed, the urgency of voices tugged him closer to the surface. Against his wishes, he grew more aware, and as that awareness came, so did the realization that something was terribly wrong with not just his head, but his _chest_.

He’d been in this very same position before, not long ago; he knew the feeling of broken, splintered bones, of lungs tightly constricted. 

_He couldn’t breathe._

A panic filled him that he couldn’t contain, one that hit at his very core and overwhelmed any chance he had of reasoning that _he'd be fine, he was okay, Oin could fix this_. Instead he was left gaping like fish starved of water as huge vocal drags left his heaving chest. 

“Oh! Fill, no.  _What’s happening_?”

“No, no, no, Fili!” Kili choked out. “Oin? _Gandalf_?”

A towering being pushed him aside roughly and knelt by Oin. He fell backwards, hands breaking his fall at the same time as he bumped into something small and soft. He glanced quickly to see Varak scurry away, stunned by the sudden push.

"Var," he whispered in an apology, but the warg instead look hesitant steps right back to his side. He patted him gently before turning back to his brother. "It's okay."

Thorin was leaning over him now, providing a constant murmur of reassurance, and Gandalf, too, had moved close. His withered hand embraced the side of Fili’s neck, and with eyes closed, he whispered in a voice that was like silk to their ears, a song almost, in a language none recognized.

Fili stilled and became silent once more.

Slowly, the wizard drew back. Thorin’s gaze looked to him, questioning.

“I cannot mend his wounds, but I’ve make him comfortable. He is only sleeping.”

Oin nodded and was quick to rally. “Help me with his tunic. Let’s take care of these ribs.”

So he, Gandalf and Thorin worked silently. Careful not to excessively jostle him, they thumbed opened buttons, unbuckled his belt, and peeled off both his tunic and smallclothes. When they finally had divulged him of his layers, Oin could hardly find words.

“Oh, dear boy,” he said hoarsely.

It was just weeks ago that these same bones had broken, bones that had barely time to heal. He remembered just hours ago examining the very same flesh; the bruises had been fading, a yellow-green that indicated trauma was healing. There was no piece of his torso that seemed to be free of blemish now.. his skin had turned raw-looking - deep red and purple, and in some places black. As he moved his hand to splay wide across the obviously broken ribcage, it shifted under the gentlest of his touches.

A hand twice as big as his own fell next to his. Gandalf’s touch was feather light as it traced from shoulder to low belly, first on the left side, then the right, spending a considerable amount of time to feel for any abnormalities. He hummed and then said very calmly, “Many of his ribs have broken but his lungs are unaffected.”

“And the rest of his insides?”

Kili had been listening intently to each of the wizard’s words, but found himself shocked at Bilbo’s voice; he’d forgotten entirely about the hobbit, who was now leaning over Gandalf’s shoulder.

“They are uninjured. It seems that although the blow he took was rather strong, young Fili here is actually quite lucky. We can bind his ribs to keep them steady, and as long as he rests, they will heal once more.”

Oin nodded in agreement, then said quietly to their leader, “It will be easiest if he’s sitting up. Sit behind him, Thorin, and keep him steady, would you?” 

When they had finished, when both Fili’s head and broken ribs had been wrapped, they were quick to get him settled on clean fur bedding, and wrapped in many blankets to keep out the chill. He’d been repositioned to lay partially upright to aid his breathing, and now that he’d been tended to, the wheeze was absent and his breathing was slow and without trouble. Kili eased next to him, craving the feeling of the gentle rise and fall of his brother’s chest.

On his side and curled close, his hands had weaved their way under the blankets to find their places on Fili’s body; one on the sharp protrusion of his hip to avoid the worst of his injuries, and the other gently cupping his head. All the stress he’d been under was rising to the surface, and he felt suddenly so close to crying at the thought that he’d almost lost his brother… again. A world without his brother was a world he did not want to live in, and the thought of it sent his belly clenching and an unbidden flux of tears. Squeezing his eyes shut, Kili nuzzled in close to the spot between his brother’s jawline and neck, and if he pressed hard enough with his lips, he could feel the quick but steady _thumpthumpthump_ of Fili’s lifebeat.

He burrowed closer, and only startled back to himself a few minutes later when he heard quiet whimpering.

The sound was not coming from the body held within his grasp, but instead from the direction above his head. When the plaintive noise continued, Kili slowly unlatched, drawing back. He tilted his back to find Varak peering down at him, and knew immediately that something was wrong.

Pulling his hands out of the blankets so he could sit up properly, he whispered, “Var? Sweetheart, what happened?”

The warg’s body was hunched and his tail had tucked between his legs. Though his gaze was wide and unseeing, the way he stared in his direction was one of distress; ears flattened to his skull and posturing, he mewled again.

Heart thudding anew, Kili scrambled to him. Up close now and even in poor light, he could see Var’s muzzle and paws were black with soot. The dwarf's eyes pinched together in concern and he reached out, bringing the small creature into his lap.

“Var, _no_ …” he whispered brokenly, not in discipline, but instead horrified at what was before him. Each of the warg’s paws had been thoroughly licked, though they were still coated in black ash. As he tilted each paw, Kili could see the pads of his feet were angry red and dotted with sores and blisters.

It couldn’t have been from their campfire, which was deliberately bordered by stones to prevent such a thing as this. No, it had to have been from before, _with the trolls_.

The entire world seemed to be imploding. He ears buzzed as his vision danced dizzyingly.

Varak had somehow followed them the great distance on injured legs, and he had not made a sound until now. Until Fili had been cared for, and until they had all settled.

The startling realization sent a torn sound from the very depths of him as his fingers ghosted over the damaged pads.

_How could he have missed this until now?_

“Kili?” his uncle had looked up from where he was cleaning a wound on his own arm.

“Oin, Oin, please.. Come here! .. _Oh Var_ ,” Kili murmured straight in his white coat, unable to rationalize what he’d unintentionally done. “How could I have missed this?”

Later, when Oin had spread a soothing ointment over each foot and was wrapping them securely, Kili kept his hold firm. He planted a kiss on the crown on his furred head and whispered just for him to hear, “I will always take care of you, Var. I am so sorry.”

Despite his discomfort, the warg reached up to nuzzle and plant a soft lick on his chin.

______________________________

It wasn’t until daybreak that Fili began to stir. Face creased in pain, his head moved weakly against the sack he rested on. Even though he had yet to fully surface, he was sure something was amiss; he’d experienced blood-loss and trauma enough times to know he’d been through something vaguely _bad_.

“Fili?”

Kili had been unable to sleep throughout the night, and had elected to keep watch of his company while they slept. The young prince had only moved from his place at Fili’s side once, and that was to feed the fire when the flames had turned to embers. He'd just started to fletch his sixth arrow, when he caught the tiny movement out of the corner of his eye. Startled, he dropped his weapons, and crawled close.

“Fili!” he whispered again, though his excitement was palpable. “Open your eyes, Fee.”

Glassy eyes finally cracked open, but he immediately winced as light from the rising sun took his headache to new levels. Kili noticed and shifted enough to shadow his face; a large smile broke as he reached out to grip his hand. “Can you hear me, Fee? I’ve been so worried about you.”

“Mahal,” he slurred passed his dry tongue. He tried opening his eyes a little wider, head not pounding as much now that Kili’s form shielded him. “My head.”

“Yeah, you knocked it quite hard, brother,” Kili said. “Here.”

To his side, he’d kept his waterskin filled with drinking water from the stream, and he quickly unstopped it as his brother coughed. Fili slowly tracked him, trying hard to keep his agony hidden and face placid, but his relief must have showed when Kili gently guided his head upward to meet the valve.

“Just a bit, _khâzash_ ,” he murmured.

The respite was instantaneous as cool water quenched his thirst. Closing his eyes again, Fili settled back, only now able to gather his thoughts and try to ask one very important question.

“What happened?”

Kili’s mouth twitched downwards. “Do you remember?”

His head ached terribly, as did his ribs and the majority of his body. It unnerved him to not know _why_ , though, and he took a few moments to try and search his memory. In the meantime, he’d unconsciously lifted a hand towards the discomfort in his chest, but Kili was quick to intercept his curious fingers.

Fili took his best guess. “I, uh.. I remember the ponies.. they were missing. Are they okay? Did we find them?”

“We did,” Kili nodded. “And they’re all safe and accounted for. It was trolls, Fee. Uncle thinks they must have come down from the Ettenmoors.”

“ _Trolls_?” Fili paled in disbelief. “Where are they now? This far south? Is everyone okay?”

Kili leaned down quickly, placing a small hand on his shoulder to calm him, and glanced over his shoulder to make sure the rest of his company still slept. “They’re taken care of, please, stay calm. Everyone is fine. You were the only one injured.”

Relief washed over him, the magnitude of it enough to send his body backwards into his bedding. He felt thoroughly exhausted now. Against his will, his eyes blinked heavily. “Okay... good.”

His brother continued to rub soothing circles on his shoulder. “You were so brave, Fee. I saw you fight.. You should have seen the troll’s face when you stuck him right in the knee.”

The blond smiled weakly, though his brow was still lightly creased in discomfort.

“Oin says your headache shouldn’t last more than a day or two, and we can give you more poppy milk once breakfast time comes ‘round. Your ribs.. they’re broken again, but nothing inside if affected. They might take a bit longer to heal this time, but he’s wrapped them good.”

“Okay. Thank you,” he whispered.

There was a moment of silence, and then Kili’s brown eyes were filling with tears. He bit his lip, face struggling against an impending crumple, and he breathed hard against it. “I was so scared. I thought I’d lost you again.”

“Kee,” Fili’s eyes fought to stay open. With the last bit of strength he had, he reached upward, finding his brother’s tunic. He gripped it tight. “You can’t get rid of me that easily,” then, more seriously, “I will never leave you, Kili.”

The rising sun caught Kili’s brimming eyes, and he swiped at them before anything could fall. He sniffed, and finally smiled wetly. “I will keep you to that promise, then.”

Suddenly, off by his feet, there was the sound of a tiny whimper. Kili’s smile widened, and he looked relieved at the distraction; with soothing murmurs, he pulled the white warg into his lap. Varak leaned upwards to sniff him for a second, then, seeming to have found what he was searching for, the pup then curled into the dwarf’s lap, sighing deeply.

Fili noticed his paws were wrapped in cloth.

“You should have seen Var, Fili. One of the trolls was going to take you, and he came out of the woods so fast.. he almost bit right through his hand!”

“Oh?” Fili felt himself glowing with affection. “And what’s happened with his paws? Was he badly hurt?”

His brother reached down to his Var’s head, and then threaded his fingers through the fur, stroking him to sleep. He lowered his voice to hardly a whisper. “He must have run by the fire after the fight. Oin says the burns are only mild, but he’ll need to stay off them for a few days,” at Fili’s frown, he added, “don’t worry, Fee, I’ll take good care of him. He can ride on my pony with me until he’s healed.”

“You're a good amad,” the prince smiled up at him.

“You’ve taught me much over the years. I learned it all from you!”

Kili had to duck, Fili’s fingers just brushing the side of his head in a well-deserved smack. “Come here, you.” 

Contentedly, Kili leaned in, head coming to rest next to his brother’s shoulder. Just before he slept, with Varak in his arms, and his brother by his side, he was struck by an overwhelming sense of peace; and though the road would likely be long with many dangers and tribulations, it was a peace that he was sure could get him through anything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khâzash** _Brother_   
> **Varak** _Loyal, loyalty_
> 
>  
> 
> So as you know, your comments feed the whump bunny. 
> 
> And the bunny wants to know.. Gormitage or angsty familyfeels from TAJ next? Both are partially written, and both will be posted, eventually. But.. thoughts?


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